Tripping
by PurpleCarpetsAgainstViolence
Summary: In a snowed in Washington DC, Gibbs ends up trapped in a murder victim's basement with a confused and injured Tony. How long will it take for help to arrive? will contain some refernces to child abuse
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **So once again, school has proved to be a wonderful inspiration for a new story. This time, it was my History teacher, talking about his basement or something. Anyway, I spent most of last night writing this and have now probably failed my Arts Exam this morning.  
Alright, English still isn't my first language, I can still only write in the middle of the night and I still don't own NCIS

They waited until the lights in the Major's bedroom went out.

Petty Officers Sachs and Sullivan both released a sigh of relief. It was about time. They had been sitting in Sullivan's old, dented, sad excuse for a car for several hours now, waiting for the Major to hit the rack.

Sachs had been rubbing his hands together, desperately trying to get some warmth into his fingers, for the last hour or so. Petty Officer Sullivan was getting annoyed with his incessant pleading to turn on the heat. He couldn't turn on the heat, because he couldn't start the motor, because he couldn't risk Major Donaldson noticing his car on the other side of the street. He had thought even a brainless heap of pure muscle, like Sachs could understand that. Well, he had thought wrong.

They waited another ten minutes or so, just to make sure the Major was asleep. Then they exited the car and walked across the street, right up to Major Donaldson's door.

"What 'bout those, Eric?" Sachs muttered, motioning with his chin towards the footprints, they had left in the snow.

Sullivan shrugged. Snow was falling heavily. He was confident their tracks would be covered up, by morning. Truth be told, he didn't really care either way. He was done with being cautious. The only reason they had to get rid of the Major was that he was being too cautious, what with the investigation going on an all.

Sullivan had tried talking to him. He had told him how this new deal couldn't possibly go wrong, had told him all about his ingenious escape plan, but the Major had refused to listen. So he had to go.

Petty Officer Sullivan fished the key to the Major's house out of his pocket. He had taken it a week ago. Snatched it right out of the Major's suitcase, when he hadn't been looking. Sullivan allowed himself a small, twisted smile, as he thought about the irony. Major Donaldson had only made him part of their operation, because of his excellent skills as a pick-pocket. Now those skills would be leading to his untimely demise.

The Major was fast asleep, when they entered his bedroom. Now it was time, for Sachs to show off his special skill. Wordlessly, Sullivan handed his friend his gun. Sachs went up to the Major's bed, pointed the gun right between his eyes and without so much as a second thought, fired a single shot.

Tony looked up from the heaps upon heaps of old evidence, piled up on his desk, just in time to see Special Agent Nelson rushing past him towards the ladies room, desperately trying to hide the tears running down her face, muttering something about "that bastard". Tony didn't have time to wonder what had upset the young woman so much. While he was still staring in the direction, Special Agent Nelson had rushed off to, someone had kicked his desk (causing several of the awkwardly balanced files, to drop to the floor), thrown a new folder in his lap and hurled not one, but two cups of coffee into his trash can.

There was no doubt about it. Leroy Jethro Gibbs was pissed. And he wasn't making the slightest effort, to hide it.

It had taken Gibbs all of ten minutes to figure out just how crappy a day this was going to be. The streets were covered with snow and he was sure that by the time they got out of the office, traffic would be chaos. Of course, he had been in a bad mood, long before the day even started. He had been barking orders and giving out more head slaps than usual and generally riding his team for pretty much the entire last two weeks. Ever since they hadn't been able to get any kind of lead on their last case.

After a small terror group in southern Sudan had been destroyed, US forces had discovered that a large percentage of the group's weapons arsenal was in fact US Navy issue. Due to the sheer number of weapons that had apparently been bought by this foreign group, the case had been handed to the MCRT.

It hadn't taken Abby all that long, to figure out how the weapons had been smuggled. The serial numbers confirmed that almost all of them had previously been reported damaged or malfunctioning, most of them from Norfolk. The Navy had disposed of them, but somebody must have made sure the containers were sent abroad, instead of to the local landfill.

But after they had discovered the _how_, the bigger mystery remained. Two weeks after they had started investigating, they were no closer to figuring out _who_ was behind the plan. And with every passing day, Gibbs' mood had dropped another couple of notches. He wanted answers and results and he didn't take kindly to being disappointed.

Three coffees into the day, it looked like he had been right. They couldn't find a single new lead. How the hell were they supposed to find leads, anyway? It wasn't like they had come up with a specific date, the weapons had been stolen at. So there was no way to check for suspects' alibis and without that, they couldn't get a single warrant to search any of their houses.

Gibbs looked up from the frustratingly long list of possible suspects, just to see McGee relaxing back into his chair, gazing at the ceiling. Within seconds, he had positioned himself in front of the junior Agent, towering over him. McGee looked up at him, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

"It's...uhm...I was just..."

Great. Apparently he had become intimidating enough over the last couple of days, to make McGee revert back into Probie-mode. Still, he wasn't just gonna let this slide.

"You were just _what,_ McGee? Dreaming up a new plot for your next novel? Cause it sure as hell didn't look like you were doing your job!"

He was just about to rip into McGee even more, when he was interrupted by his Senior Field Agent.

"Aw, come on boss! Don't go all Mr Burns on him. It's not, like we _have _any job to do, really. It's not McGee's fault that you noticed _him_. Let's face it: not everybody can be as good at fake working, as me."

Gibbs closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. He knew what DiNozzo was doing. It was the same thing he had been doing for the last couple of days. Whenever he felt that Gibbs was living up to his second B too much, he stepped in, tried to make him take out his anger on himself, rather than the rest of the team.

Gibbs could tell that he was trying his hardest to get McGee off the hook. Lounging in his chair, his legs resting on his desk, chewing on some chocolate candy and that goddamn DiNozzo grin plastered onto his face. He had even thrown in some movie reference (or was it a TV show?), just to make absolutely sure Gibbs would notice how his work ethic was even worse than McGee's.

He was just about to oblige him, when he was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. Shooting one last warning look in the direction of both his agents, he went and answered the call.

Two minutes later he entered Autopsy, to be greeted by the sight of Ducky trying to persuade an obviously hung-over Abby to drink her morning Caff Pow!.

"What you got for me, Duck?"

"Why, good morning to you too, Jethro."

Normally, Gibbs would have smiled at the M.E.'s insistence on proper etiquette. These days, all he could do, was grunt and hope that he had been called down here for some reason, other than to force-feed Abby her much needed caffeine boost.

"I've found something really cool" Abby chimed in, resting her head on one of the autopsy tables. "I come in here, right? And Ducky is doing this autopsy…which isn't the cool thing I discovered. It's pretty much normal really. Finding Ducky doing an autopsy….he's really good at that…"

Gibbs had trouble deciphering the last part. Abby's speech was still slurring and her words were muffled by her talking into the crook of her arm.

Realizing that the lab tech wasn't going to continue her tale, Gibbs turned to Ducky, raising an inquiring eyebrow.

"Well, you will have to excuse her demeanor, Jethro. The young like to go out and have a little fun every once in a while. There is nothing wrong with that. In fact, I was quite the avid partier myself, while I was – "

"The 'cool thing' she discovered, Duck?"

"Of course."

Ducky led him over, to another set of tables and uncovered one of its occupants.

Gibbs stared at the corpse before him. It was the dead body of Major Peter Donaldson, the commanding officer of the Norfolk Naval Base Armory. They had worked closely together, trying to find the people involved in the illegal trading.

He had also been one of their many suspects.

"I am so sorry you were not called to the crime scene." Ducky shook his head. "He was found at the kerbside, early this morning. Naked, I am afraid, so there was really nothing to suggest that NCIS should be notified. Once the police had run his fingerprints, their Medical Examiner handed the body over to me. But still, I had no idea, the poor fellow could be connected to your case, either. It was not until Abigail recognized him – "

"That's because I really liked his photograph, when I ran his prints the first time...great bone structure."

Abby had woken up again. She really did look like hell. She seemed to still be wearing her pajama bottoms (with a seasonal print of vampires building snowmen), her hair was sticking out in weird angles and Gibbs was sure that beneath the smudges of mascara, there were dark circles around her eyes.

"He's still handsome, though. Even as a corpse. I mean…not, that I find him _attractive_ as a corpse. I'm sure some people would. Actually, I know several people, who would, but not me."

Gibbs picked up the untouched Caff Pow! and offered it to the yawning Goth.

Abby looked appalled.

"Gibbs! I can't! I had that one drink last night. I ordered it, because it had Caff Pow! in it...and egg nogg...I think. Actually…I had more than one of those…anyway, now I can't even look at _that_" – she scowled at the cup Gibbs was holding – "without feeling sick."

With that, she let her head drop back onto her arms, smearing some makeup on her top in the process.

"Donaldson's dead" Gibbs announced, when he entered the bullpen.

Three heads shot up at that revelation.

"Major Donaldson? From Norfolk?"

Gibbs nodded in McGee's direction and started giving out orders.

"McGee, go through the Major's files again. Look for possible murder suspects. Call Washington P.D. for their findings at the crime scene. Ziva, make sure Abby stays awake, while she's doing her tests. DiNozzo, you're with me!"

The ride to the Major's house took them long enough. Like Gibbs had predicted, people lost their ability to drive during that kind of weather.

"I'm just glad it's not rush hour." Tony commented, looking out the window. "Few hours from now and it'd take us twice as long. You know, a_lways look on the bright side of life_."

Gibbs spared him a sideways glance, bemused by his Agent's cheerful attitude in the face of an epic traffic jam.

Two hours later, they had almost reached the Major's home. Gibbs called McGee from his cell phone, to inform the rest of the team about their delay.

He put the phone down, just as Tony parked the car.

Together they approached the house, glad that they finally had a reason to search any of their suspects' houses. Even if that reason was the murder of said suspect.

Predictably there was a spare key hidden under an outrageously ugly china turtle. It was the kind of thing his second wife would have bought, Gibbs mused.

Once the door was opened, Gibbs turned left, checking the living room and sent Tony off into the opposite direction. Once he had secured the living room and gotten Tony's shout of "Clear" from the bathroom, he went on to check out the kitchen.

A large steak had been placed on the counter, but apart from that the kitchen was empty as well. Shouting out another "Clear", the lead Agent opened the last remaining door. He was greeted with a steep stairwell. Drawing his gun, Gibbs descended the stairs, to find himself in a small basement. The walls were covered in cardboard boxes, piled up to the ceiling.

Gibbs opened the box nearest to him. He stared at the contents of the box for a moment, then he called for DiNozzo to get the camera. They had found their illegal arms dealer.

Just as he was about to open the next set of boxes, he heard the commotion. First there were Tony's characteristically light steps approaching the kitchen. His were suddenly followed by one, no two sets of much heavier steps.

Somebody yelled, there was the sound of a heavy object connecting with a human skull, the door above him opened and Tony practically flew down the stairs.

A bulky man stood in the doorframe, holding some sort of kitchen utensil. Before Tony even hit the floor, Gibbs had put two bullets right through the guy's heart. The impact of the bullets sent the man stumbling down the stairs and seconds after Tony's head hit the floor with a sickening _crack!,_ his attacker landed on top of him.

The door fell shut and somebody turned the lock.

*****

Wow, this turned out longer than I expected. Next chapter will be up some time next year I think. Merry Christmas everyone and hey, why don't you leave a little christmas present for me and press that little button right below ^^


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: There you go. I even managed to write it down _before_ next year. ^^  
Thanks for all the reviews and alerts.

He'd never found coming round from unconsciousness to be a particularly enjoyable experience. The being unconscious part was bad enough, not knowing what was happening to his body and all that, but the very moment he settled in the comfortable darkness, he was usually assaulted by bright lights and noise and people shaking him and more often than not, a butt load of pain.

This time was no different. Tony had just settled into a relatively comfortable state of unconsciousness (how did he end up like this anyway?), when he could feel his body being dragged across some hard, ice-cold surface.

A voice was muttering into his ear. Something along the lines of "Don't you dare not wake up".

He wasn't exactly sure who the voice belonged to, but some part of his brain told him that it was of the utmost importance, to do as the voice said, so when he was asked to open his eyes, that was what he did.

A face came into focus, but before he could be sure who it belonged to, the owner of the face (and probably the voice, come to think of it) was shining a bright light into his eyes. He tried to pull away, but the man clutched his jaw in a vice like grip and before he knew what was happening, he panicked.

He tried to push the man off of him, shouting for him to stop.

The man let go of him, while he tried to back away, only to hit a wall after a second.

Then the voice was back.

It was murmuring something, apparently trying to calm him down, but the gentle tone did nothing to relieve his worries. It seemed all wrong; like that voice was never, under _any _circumstances supposed to sound like that.

That was, when the voice changed. It got all gruff and terribly loud and it felt, like an elephant was rope skipping inside his head, but somehow it grounded him. Within seconds the panic dropped to a more manageable level and the world started to make sense again.

"Boss?" he asked. "Gibbs, is that you?"

"Who did you think it was, DiNozzo? The Wicked Witch of the West? "

"What the hell were you doing with that light?"

Gibbs shrugged.

"Checking you pupil reaction." he offered, holding up his flashlight.

It had seemed like the appropriate thing to do, after Tony had hit his head that hard. He had seen a number of doctors and paramedics do the same thing on dozens of occasions. DiNozzo didn't need to know that he had little to no clue what he had been looking for, much less what he should do if the test _had_ shown an anomaly.

"What the hell happened?" Tony asked, taking in the basement with a vague hand gesture.

"I was sort of hoping you'd tell me that." Gibbs shrugged. "All I know is, I called for you and you came flying down the stairs. Care to fill in the gaps?"

All he got in reply was a short shake of the head, quickly followed by Tony sucking in his breath through his teeth, obviously in pain at the slight movement.

"Concussion?" the older man asked.

"Not sure, yet." Tony allowed.

That in itself was as good, as an admission. A Tony in full health would never willingly admit to even the _possibility _of any sort of major injury that would earn him a trip to the hospital.

Realizing his slip, Tony quickly tried to draw Gibbs' attention to something else.

"What's with my face?"

The entire right half of his face felt all wrong. The skin around the temple was on fire as if someone had ripped it open. He didn't dare touch it for fear of pulling off part of his face. In other places the skin it felt too tense. Tony recognized the sensation as blood clotting over an open wound. Finally there was a dull pain radiating from right beneath his eye. Judging from the way his vision was blurring and his field of vision was growing ever smaller, the eye was in the process of swelling shut.

Gibbs walked a few steps, picked up something from the floor and focused the flashlight on it.

"Got hit over the head with this."

"A…meat tenderizer?"

Tony would have felt undignified at the idea of being attacked (and apparently overwhelmed) with a simple kitchen tool, were it not for the fact, that his attention was quickly drawn from the wooden object in Gibbs' hand to the dead body at his feet.

Following his Agent's gaze, Gibbs pointed the flashlight at the dead man's face instead.

"Petty Officer Jonathan Sachs," he announced, remembering the man from a particularly frustrating interview/interrogation. "He's the aspiring cook. Had to put a couple of bullets through him."

Tony tried to focus on the facts before him. Him and Gibbs in some dark, cold room, without any windows, for no reason, whatsoever. His head (and now, that he came to think of it, the rest of his body as well) in ever growing pain. A dead man, lying in a pool of blood…he couldn't put the puzzle together, for the life of him.

Recognizing the lost look on his Agent's face, Gibbs decided to put him out of his misery.

"Solved our big mystery. Donaldson was the one selling weapons to our terror group." He opened the cardboard box closest to where he was standing and retrieved an M-4 Carbine. "Pistols are over there, machineguns over here and a couple of hand grenades right next to you."

Tony frowned. Both at the fact that Gibbs had thought it a good idea to position him right next to a heap of malfunctioning grenades and at the thought, that he had been out of it long enough to give Gibbs the time to search through the multitude of boxes.

"Donaldson had at least two partners. Might have been the ones who took him out. Sachs here was partner number one. Two trapped us in here."

Now _that_ didn't sound good. Immediately, Tony felt the bile rise in his throat. Trapped us in here. _Here_. Basement. Trapped in a basement. _Locked_ in a basement.

Gibbs heard the younger man's breathing go shallow; he saw his eyes darting across the room, looking for a way out. It was obvious, Tony was starting to panic again. Just, this time Gibbs didn't have the first clue what had caused it.

It couldn't have been the "Two trapped us in here." comment. Being trapped was no novelty to Tony. In the last couple of years, he had been locked inside a shipping container, dumped in some rat infected sewer system, held hostage several times…Gibbs decided to blame the concussion for the sudden mood swing.

Tony meanwhile was trying to get a handle on the threatening panic attack. _Memories_, he kept telling himself._ Long time ago. No need to be scared of a memory._

Like before, it was Gibbs' gruff tone of command, that pulled him out of it.

"Your cell phone, DiNozzo! Today!"

Staring at his boss' outstretched hand, Tony tried tilting his head to the side, quickly stopping the motion, when the Royal Orchestra of Pain started playing in his head again.

"Don't have a cell phone, boss." He pressed out through gritted teeth. "Some schmuck at the office broke it the other day. Haven't gotten a new one since."

He lowered his eyes at the last part, clearly feeling guilty.

Gibbs rolled his eyes in annoyance. He wasn't annoyed with DiNozzo so much for not replacing the phone. He was more annoyed with himself, distinctly remembering that "other day" DiNozzo was talking about.

DiNozzo had been gone to the head (or visiting Abby or getting lunch…Gibbs wasn't sure were exactly he had gone off to) and Gibbs had been yelling at McGee for one reason or another, when that dreadful sound had erupted from right next to him.

He had recognized the sound as Tony's new ringtone. Lady CooCoo's newest single, if he recalled it correctly. It had been annoying the hell out of him for the last couple of days. He had picked up the phone and tried to switch it off, pushing every button imaginable in various combinations. All that had accomplished however, was for the incessant sound to grow _louder._

With the maddening clamor rising in volume by the second, he really hadn't had any other choice but to hammer the phone against the edge of McGee's desk several times, before dropping the remnants on the floor.

Careful not to aggravate his bad knee too much in the process, Gibbs let himself slide down the wall next to DiNozzo.

Tony stopped himself just in time from turning his head, to look at his boss. He really didn't want to move his head right now, so he spoke to the box opposite him.

"Aren't you gonna call McGee, to get us outa here?"

He decided to take Gibbs' answering silence as a "No".

Finally, Gibbs did reply with a heavy sigh.

"Left my phone in the car."

This time, Tony couldn't stop himself from turning his head sharply. The pain that shot through his head almost made him see stars, but he was rather proud of the way he managed to cover his hiss with an incredulous laugh.

"You what? But…that's…" He was equally proud of his ability to make being out of breath from the sudden pain, sound like outraged stuttering.

"A violation of Rule 3, DiNozzo, yeah, I get that!"

In the dim light from the torch, Gibbs couldn't really make out his Agent's features, but judging from the strain in his voice, he was in a considerable amount of pain, so he decided to humor him.

"There," Gibbs pointed the flashlight at his face and used his free hand to slap himself on the back of the head. "Happy?"

"Kinda."

When Ziva stormed into Abby's lab, the Goth looked no better than when she had left her, 20 minutes ago.

This time however, Ziva really needed her. This wasn't about matching the partial print found at the crime scene to Petty Officer Sachs or specifying the chemicals found under the Major's fingernails. This was about life and death.

"Abby, you need to stop being hung over. We are unable to contact Gibbs and Tony."

Pressing both her palms against her temples, Abby glared in Ziva's general direction.

"Well, yelling at me won't make it better," she blinked a few times, belatedly taking in the information. "Wait! You lost Gibbs and Tony?!"

"Gibbs is not answering his cell phone," Ziva started to explain, but Abby was already lost in her mutterings.

"This had been happening too much. Something is _seriously_ wrong with those two. Why do they have to keep disappearing? It's just not fair, it's – "

"Abby!" again, the lab tech clutched her head at the loud sound. "You must track down Gibbs' phone. McGee is waiting for signals from the cell phones belonging to the two Petty Officers who did not report in today, so he cannot search for Gibbs' phone as well. You need to do it."

Abby looked at her for a second, as if debating a great sacrifice, then she grabbed the still untouched Caff Pow! from the top of a shelf, closed her eyes and took several large gulps.

"I will find the bossman's cell phone for you," she announced. "And I will find it faster than you can possibly imagine and then you guys can track him down and make sure he and Tony are alright. Because if they aren't, it will be my fault, for recognizing Major Donaldson in the first place."

She paused to take a breath and down the rest of her Caff Pow!

"They are alright, aren't they?"

*****


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **Hey you guys. I'm really sorry I took so long to update, but RL threw a hole bunch of problems at me in the aftermath of new year's eve (Remind me to never ever mix vodka and baileys again. Apparently it makes me lose my mind). But most of those problems are now dealt with and the rest is being ignored in the hopes that they will go away on their own, so now I'm back to writing and the next update should follow a lot quicker.

Gibbs glanced down at the dimly lit dial of his watch.

1500.

They had been in this goddamn basement for a little over an hour, with no way of getting out or getting medical attention for Tony.

His condition had quickly deteriorated once they had finished discussing the new developments on their case.

With nothing left to talk about, Tony was once again trying to keep the locked-in-a-basement panic at bay, but apparently his brain had decided to flood his mind with memories of a wine cellar and a heavy, locked door and Dr Frank'n'Furter's face looming over him in the darkness.

Gibbs was watching the younger man grow more and more distressed. He was breathing faster, his eyes were darting all over the room, like he was desperately looking for a way out.

He knew that if he didn't come up with a new topic to put Tony's mind off whatever his hurt brain was haunting him with, this might very well turn into another full blown panic attack.

But talking was supposed to be DiNozzo's thing, really. Gibbs himself had never figured out how to do small talk. He had never felt the urge to talk, when there was nothing in the world to talk about. At times, he found it almost physically painful, to listen to and talk about mundane things, when he could just as well be silent.

Tony worked differently, though. It seemed, like he needed a constant stream of chatter around him (even if he had to provide it himself), so as not get lost in his own mind. He had seen it happen before. A DiNozzo, left alone with his thoughts could be a dangerous thing.

Wracking his brain for _anything_ to say to his Agent, Gibbs was startled to hear Tony's hoarse voice, muttering to himself.

"_So _not gonna stay in here and wait this time."

This time?

It took Gibbs several seconds, to realize what Tony was trying to do.

He reached over to try and stop him from getting up, but before his hand had even touched Tony's arm, the Senior Field Agent had slumped back against the wall, groaning and clutching his head in both his hands.

"What the hell did you do that for?"

The words came out harsher than intended and Gibbs cursed himself, when he saw Tony wince slightly.

But like before, Tony found that the combination of pain from the sudden movement, shooting through his body and his boss' harsh tone of voice pushed the memories back to the darker edges of his mind, where they weren't nearly as frightening.

"Come again, boss?"

"I said what the hell did you try and get up for?"

"Oh…that."

He tried to put on a brave smile, as the searing pain in his head just wouldn't subside. Why did he bother covering his pain with fake smiles and laughs in the almost complete darkness, anyway? It wasn't like Gibbs could see him. Not even Gibbs could see without any light source, right? It wasn't like he was batman. Could batman see in the dark? Probably with the help of some super, sci-fi gadget.

_Getting sidetracked, Anthony. Back to the conversation, come on!_

"Just…thought I'd be able to break through the door, boss."

Gibbs craned his neck to take in the flight of stairs, leading up to the kitchen door.

"I told you, I already tried that, DiNozzo." He started out irritated, then suddenly grew worried in face of the head injury. "Don't you remember that?"

Tony made a low, non-committal sound in the back of his throat.

Worried that he might slip back into his pre-panic daze, Gibbs asked the first thing that came to his mind, to start up a conversation with Tony.

"So, this remind you of a movie?"

The Rocky Horror Picture Show! A small boy, left behind in a cold and damp wine cellar, trying to pass the time by doing the dance routine from his new favorite movie, just before his mind started mixing reality with fiction and Tim Curry's made-up face started coming ever closer, threatening to take him to the planet of Transylvania, or to turn him into a marble statue or to…

"Nope. No movie."

Gibbs frowned at the short answer. Turning down any conversation, was odd behavior for Tony DiNozzo. Turning down a free offer to discuss various movie scenarios, seemed almost unthinkable.

Something about the answer however, made Gibbs decide not to press the point. If Tony didn't want to discuss movies, he was fine with it. In fact, he was more than fine with it. Movies weren't all that far up on his list of favorite topics. But his decision that Tony needed to be kept talking was final. He couldn't let his issues (imaginary or real) get the better of him again.

"So how many concussions have you totaled, this year?"

Slipping into his trench coat, Ducky hurried across the full parking lot, to where Ziva was already sitting in the sedan.

"I am so sorry you had to wait for me, my dear. I simply could not turn down our young Abigail's request."

Ziva waved him off and started the car.

"McGee is still working on finding the two missing Petty Officers. He will call us, in case he has a breakthrough."

Ducky nodded, cradling his doctor's bag in his lap, as Ziva accelerated right before taking a sharp left turn out of the parking lot.

He could feel his heart beating against his rips, at the thought of being stuck in a car, driven by the Israeli for possibly several hours.

He was doing this for Abby, he reminded himself, just as Ziva barely managed to slam on the breaks before a red light. He was also doing it for Jethro and Tony, but mostly, because Abby had pleaded with him to go.

Once she had had her second Caff Pow! the lab tech had pulled her messy hair into her trademark pigtails and started her search for Gibbs' cell phone. It had taken her all of two minutes.

"Super easy!" she had announced. "It wasn't even turned off, so I didn't need to overexert any of my babies. Not, that I wouldn't have done that, if I had had to, because I totally would have. Anyway, his cell phone was right in front of the victim's house. I already told Tim and Ziva and I think they're already on their way, to get them out of there!"

Here she had stopped, to punch the air and let out a short victorious scream that quickly died on her lips, as her eyes suddenly grew wide with worry.

"Ducky, what if they had to leave the phone behind? Gibbs might have dropped it. They could be miles away from the phone and we will never ever find them again! I should have put that GPS chip in Tony's neck years ago, when I had the chance! Why didn't he let me do it, Ducky?"

A little overwhelmed by the rush of words, combined with the sudden mood swing, Ducky had pulled the Goth into a warm hug.

"Now, now, Abigail, I am sure Ziva and Tim will be able to find our boys and return them safely home."

Abby had tried taking a deep breath that had caught in her throat.

"Oh my god. What if they find them, but they are hurt? They always get hurt. Especially Tony. Ducky, can you go with them and make sure they'll be alright? Please?"

And unable to resist the desperate girl's pleas, Ducky had taken his doctor's bag out of the shelf by the door and hurried into the parking lot.

Gibbs' question made Tony chuckle. How many concussions had he had this year?

"Two or three, including this one. Man, I've been trying to cut back. Can't be healthy, hitting your head like that on a regular basis."

"Don't worry," Gibbs assured him in a gruff voice. "We'll get you to a hospital in no time."

"I don't need a fucking hospital!"

Somehow, Tony managed to keep the snapped answer at a volume that was more or less tolerable for his own head.

The instant refusal of any medical care was a kneejerk reaction. He _really_ didn't like doctors prodding and poking him to no end, giving him all sorts of more or less disgusting syrups and pills, while he had to sit still and just let them do it.

DiNozzos didn't need doctors. Especially not for a silly, little concussion.

"Not like they could do anything about it, anyway."

Why was he slurring his words again? The short outburst couldn't have drained all his energy, could it?

"They told me that, you know, boss. First time they took me to a hospital for a concussion…doc told me there's nothing you can do…gotta sleep it off…wouldn't even give me any painkillers…said I was too small…"

Tony's voice trailed off.

Trying to get into a more comfortable position, Gibbs groaned slightly, as every bone in his body seemed to ache from sitting in the cold for so long.

That last comment about his first concussion intrigued him.

"How small were you?"

Again, Tony recognized the uncharacteristically kind and gentle note in his boss' voice. It still bothered him to no end.

"'bout seven."

"What happened?"

Gibbs already had his ideas about that. There were only so many things a seven-year old could do, to hit his head hard enough to need medical treatment. Even if that seven-year old was called Tony DiNozzo. On the other hand, he could think of a lot of ways, some other person could inflict the same injury on such a small kid. And Gibbs had a pretty good idea of who that other person might have been.

When Tony took several seconds to answer, Gibbs felt his heart sink.

"Fell down the stairs."

Gibbs couldn't help but scowl at the cliché explanation.

Despite the almost complete darkness, Tony could feel his boss' stare. It was funny how he still thought that simply staring at him could break through his iron wall defenses. He didn't _want_ _to_ talk about this. He wasn't _going to_ talk about this. No patented Glare of Death would make him talk, if he didn't want to.

"Medical file sais I fell down the stairs."

That wasn't talking. It was a clarification. Well, strictly speaking that was talking, too. It certainly wasn't talking _about it_, though.

Ziva let out a frustrated screech, while shaking her fist at the cars to her right.

"I knew that this lane was moving faster. Do you see the truck ahead? It was _behind_ us several minutes ago."

Ducky swallowed as he realized, Ziva was trying to change lanes again.

The traffic was a nightmare. Driving during rush hour was bad enough, but with the icy roads and the windscreen wipers working nonstop against the never ceasing snow, traffic was moving so slowly, Ducky wasn't even sure whether they would reach their destination before midnight.

Horns started blaring, as Ziva actually managed to squeeze their car in between two pickup trucks.

She ignored them and simply scowled, as she realized that they weren't moving considerably faster.

"What is it with the Americans?" she asked exasperatedly. "So it snowed. This could be nothing but a small inconvenience and they act like they suddenly lost their ability to drive over 5 mph."

Ducky refrained from answering that. Of course, he was just as anxious to find Tony and Gibbs, but in spite of himself, he felt rather relieved that the streets were so jammed, that it was more or less impossible for Ziva's driving to kill them both on the way.

When Tony didn't elaborate on his rather cryptic remark, Gibbs decided to push just a little bit.

"What actually happened?"

"Dunno…"

"What do you mean, you _don't know_? How could you not – "

He didn't realize he was almost yelling, until he saw Tony's shadowy figure curling in on himself, clutching his head in pain.

"I don't know, okay?" the voice came out pressed and a little shaky. "Don't remember. Like I don't remember how I ended up in here."

He really, really, _really_ wanted to leave it there.

It was a good story. The best part about it being that it was true. He _didn't_ remember how he had gotten his first concussion. (Unless you counted the nightmares he had had for some time after the accident, featuring his father, a spilled bottle of whiskey and the edge of his father's desk. But nightmares didn't count as memories. They could have come from anywhere, right?)

But the pounding in his head was getting worse and the right side of his face was still hurting like hell and Gibbs was still staring at him, even if he couldn't see it and somehow he just kept talking.

"I mean…it's not like I can't _imagine _what mighta happened…'79 was a pretty bad year. Some business deal didn't go too well…I think he caught mother with the pool boy at one point…she started taking more'n'more pills…I did a lot of falling down the stairs and running into doors that year…"

Gibbs let out a long and heavy sigh.

"Aw, hell, DiNozzo…"

This was exactly, what he had expected. But he had still hoped that he was wrong. Judging from the small pieced of his past that Tony had revealed to him over the last years, it appeared that Anthony DiNozzo Sr. was in fact capable of using his small son as a human punching bag, but still…

The very idea of hurting his own daughter like that made Gibbs feel sick to his stomach.

Sensing the compassion and the pity in Gibbs' voice, Tony decided that it was high time to end this conversation.

"I'm feelin' kinda tired, boss. Think I'll try an' get some shut eye."

Wordlessly, Gibbs helped the younger man slide down the wall, until he was stretched out on the floor.

He waited several minutes for his breathing to even out. When he was sure Tony was asleep (or at least enough at peace to fake sleep very convincingly), he took off his heavy winter coat and gently placed it around his agent's shivering frame.

*****


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** There you go. Thanks for all your wonderful reviews and alersts and so on. I'm handing all of you a virtual Caff Pow!  
Sorry about the lack of some form of break between secenes in the last chapter. I swear I put something in there, but the internet made it disappear again. Anyway, from now on breaks between scenes shall be indicated by a line of stars, such as this one, right below. ^^

*****

His head was spinning. That was the first indication he got, that he might be awake again. Wait. Had he been asleep? Why in the name of god would he fall asleep on a stone cold floor? And why did his blanket smell of coffee and sawdust?

It was cold – cross that, it was freezing. Tony tried to curl into a tight ball under his new, soft blanket that had come out of nowhere, but the slight movement made him dizzy all over again. Right. Maybe he should try opening his eyes before he moved again.

He opened his eye. Eye. Singular. What the hell? He tried again, but his left eyelid didn't move an inch.

Gibbs' head shot up at the choked breath coming from his Senior Field Agent.

He had been in and out of consciousness for the last hour or so. Sleeping, waking for a few confused minutes, going back to his uneasy sleep, only to be woken again, by some awkward movement of his head.

Gibbs remembered the advice, Ducky had given him the last half a dozen times, he had looked after a concussed DiNozzo.

_Let him rest. But when he awakes, make sure the boy is lucid._

"Tony, you with me?"

A tangled moan was all he got in reply. Did that count as lucid?

"DiNozzo! Front and centre!"

"That you, boss?"

Jesus…hadn't they been through this already?

"Something happened to my head."

"You think, DiNozzo?"

The question lacked its usual bite. He knew full well how badly a head injury could affect a person's memory. But Tony sounded worried. Not just about having hit his head again in a manner he didn't remember, but about something more specific. Something a little more unusual.

"Something bothering you?"

_You mean aside from my rips hurting like hell and the fact that someone apparently shoved sawdust down my throat and the smell of blood and dead body (dead body? No way, you're imagining things) in the air and that tiny man in my head, sawing up my brain into tiny little pieces? No, putting those things aside, I'm just peachy, thank you very much._

Tony was glad that he at least managed to censor himself, before he actually _said_ what was going through his mind. He was sure that head injury or not, that outburst would have earned him a head slap.

The grunt from his right reminded him that he had been asked a question. But what question exactly?

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Ah, right…that question.

"Can't open my left eye."

He hated how scared and hoarse and _weak_ that statement sounded.

"Come here."

And before he had turned his head fully in Gibbs' direction, someone made a bright light appear right in front of him and it hurt his eye and his head and he tried to back away from it, but that hurt his head even more and suddenly the dizziness tripled and he was lying on his side, emptying the meager contents of his stomach onto the floor.

"Crap…"

Gibbs tossed aside the flashlight he'd been holding. Obviously, shining it right into DiNozzo's face, to check for his eye hadn't been one of his better ideas.

Placing a tentative hand on Tony's shoulder, he started murmuring soft words of comfort. It took several minutes for the dry heaving to stop. When the violent tremors running through Tony's body finally died down, Gibbs slowly tugged at his shoulder, coaxing him into carefully turning to face him.

"Sorry 'bout that, boss."

His voice was still hoarse and trembling and sounded even weaker than before.

Gibbs took a moment to consider telling him off for apologizing, but dismissed the idea. Making Tony feel even more insecure than he was already, wouldn't help either of them.

"Didn't mean to make a mess."

"Don't you worry about it, DiNozzo."

He gave his Agent another pat on the shoulder.

Tony didn't quite understand why Gibbs wasn't angry with him. They were stuck in some tiny, dark room with no apparent way out for an indefinite amount of time and he had just made the experience that much less enjoyable by adding the smell of a semi-digested breakfast burrito to the cacophony of unsavory odors already permeating the room.

"Water?" he asked hopefully.

Gibbs' silence was enough of an answer. Of course they didn't have any water. What a stupid question. Since when did they take bottled water, when investigating a crime scene? Wait…were they even at a crime scene?

When Tony grew silent again, Gibbs suddenly remembered his earlier dissolve, to not leave him alone with his own mind.

"At least you don't have to worry about your eye."

"I don't?"

It took Tony several moments, to remember that he had been worried about his eye in the first place.

"Swollen completely shut. Nice shade of purple, too." Gibbs relayed the little information he had been able to gather in the split second, the flashlight had illuminated Tony's face. "Gonna look pretty spectacular in a few days. You'll be able to tell the girls at your bars all kinds of heroic stories about how it got that way."

"You saying I have to resort to pity, to pick up girls?"

"Saying you're not above it."

*****

McGee was annoyed with the world.

He had been staring at his computer screen for the last couple of minutes, trying to find something to do.

If you thought about it, It was really amazing how they were in the middle of a potentially exciting case, had finally gotten a promising lead just this morning and he still managed to end up with nothing to do, but wait.

He had spent a few minutes on the phone with Washington PD, talking about their findings on the crime scene.

He had listened to Ducky's autopsy report.

Someone from Norfolk had called to inform them that two Petty Officers, who had been working with the dead Major, were missing.

When Abby had matched the partial print, found near Major Donaldson's body to P.O. Sachs, he had become excited for a minute. Tim McGee was going to find the murderer, while Gibbs and Tony were stuck in traffic.

Unfortunately, his suspect's cell phone wasn't turned on. Neither was the other Petty Officer's. Worse than that, the man didn't even _own_ a car. He put out a BOLO for P.O. Sullivan's car just to be sure.

Ever since Ziva had left to find Gibbs and Tony, now that they hadn't been able to contact them for several hours, he had been alone in the bullpen, waiting for something to happen.

*****

Gibbs strained his ears to figure out what Tony was doing now. He could hear him moving around, the shuffling of clothes and a few sharp intakes of breath, whenever his movements were too much for his head to handle.

After another stifled curse, Gibbs finally snapped.

"_What_ are you doing?"

Another low moan from Tony, at the loud voice. It took him some time to answer. Somehow words seemed to be coming less easily to him by the minute. He really didn't like that. He _liked_ talking.

"Kinda hot in here…Tryin' to…get my head…cooled down…not all that…comfy…"

Not really able to understand much of the muffled answer, much less the meaning behind it, Gibbs told him to stay still and close his eyes.

He fumbled around for the flashlight, he had thrown away earlier. Giving Tony a last heads up, he switched it on, to look at the scene before him.

Tony was lying flat on his stomach. His eyes tightly shut, this time, his face pressed firmly against the stone cold ground, his cheeks covered in dirt and gravel.

"What the…"

Closing his eyes helped somewhat against the dizziness, but it got him nowhere near the genial bliss of complete darkness. Every time the flashlight went over Tony's face, the insides of his eyelids turned a bright red that made his head spin all over again. He still felt obliged to elaborate on his current condition.

"Floor's cold, boss…head hurts…"

Wow, now if that wasn't eloquent, he didn't know what was.

He hastened to add a quick "Sorry", when his boss' answer was another annoyed sigh. He wasn't exactly sure why he was apologizing, but it was obvious, he had screwed up in some sort of way. Enough so, to make Gibbs angry. He didn't like angry Gibbs. Or did he? He wasn't exactly sure about that either.

Gibbs rolled his eyes at the apology.

"Jesus, you should have said something, DiNozzo."

If your head hurt enough, to make you roll around on the filthy floor, shoving your face in it, trying to cool it down, it was probably time to ask for help.

"C'mon, let me give you a hand."

"Don't need help, boss…"

Yeah, right.

With a sardonic laugh, Gibbs pulled his Sig out of its holster and emptied the magazine on the floor. As he had expected, the December cold had seeped through the metal of the weapon, leaving it a fine substitute for the standard ice pack.

Gibbs made sure, his hand brushed Tony's brow, when he pressed the cold weapon against his forehead. Tony winced slightly at the sudden contact. At least he didn't have a fever, from what Gibbs cold tell.

He helped Tony slowly turn onto his back again, when he saw the _other _side of his face. The one that was swollen and covered in blood and generally looked like it had been mauled by a wild animal. On top of that, it was now smudged with dirt and filth from the floor. Some grit seemed to be embedded in the deep gashes around the temple.

Great. Gibbs let out another exasperated sigh.

"Now, look what you did."

He was no doctor, but he was positive that contaminating an open wound with grime from a basement floor that by the looks of it hadn't been cleaned in several years, wasn't the way to go.

Tony responded with another mumbled apology. With his eyes still closed against the offending flashlight and judging from the overall mental state his Agent was in, Gibbs was fairly sure he didn't have the first clue, what he was apologizing for. Somehow that made him even angrier.

None too gently, he pushed Tony's shoulders towards the floor, before he switched off the flashlight again.

"Now stop the fidgeting and stay where you are."

"Yes, sir."

The small, mumbled answer sounded miserable enough to make Gibbs stop short. What was he doing, getting annoyed and snapping at an injured team member? He _was _concerned, after all. Why did his concern always have to come out as anger or frustration?

"Tony, I…"

But the younger man wouldn't let him finish.

"Called caffeine withdrawal, boss…"

*****

"McGee, you've got to take a look at this!"

McGee shot out of his chair, watching, as Abby ran out of the elevator, shouting his name over and over again.

"Abby, what happened? Are you alright?"

Abby continued to bounce on her toes, her hands clasped firmly behind her back.

"I have found a way to save Gibbs and Tony." She announced.

*****

Right. Sorry, this didn't turn out to be any longer, but it just felt like the perfect place to stop.  
I have now placed popcorn, pringles, beer and red bull strategically around my computer, wrote an email to my school, telling them I have the flu and locked myself into my room. All I'm waiting for, is for someone to upload "Flesh and Bone" onto the internet. I'm so nervous about that episode. The promos scare me. I hope they're massively misleading, because I just can't deal with a joking, laughing, _nice_ DiNozzo Sr. I just can't.


	5. Chapter 5

*****

"I have found a way to save Gibbs and Tony! "

McGee tilted his head to the side.

"To save Gibbs and Tony from what?"

Abby stopped her bouncing for a second to scowl.

"To save them from whatever has happened to them, Timmy!" she sounded a lot like she was explaining the technology in her lab to a group of dim-witted 3-year olds. "Gibbs isn't answering his phone, so _something_ hinky must have happened. Gibbs can take care of himself, but whenever something hinky happens, Tony ends up being drugged or shot or stabbed or falls out of a plain or a combination of all of the above and then he has to go to a hospital and he hates that, so I have found a way to stop that from happening."

"Right…"

McGee was still having trouble following his friends thought process. True, Tony and Gibbs _had _gone missing, but that might be due to a number of reasons, most of them not involving the Senior Field Agent being caught up in some hideous scenario right out of a procedural drama from TV and besides…even if Abby was right, there wasn't a whole lot they could do to "save" them, until Ziva and Ducky had found them first.

McGee's confusion only grew, when his friend removed her hands from behind her back, producing a small, apparently self-made doll.

"I made this," she announced proudly. "Do you recognize him? That's Tony. I keep this Collector's Edition Ken in my lab, for good luck. You know, Ken? Barbie's boyfriend. It's really hard to get by. It comes fully endowed with all the…special parts the normal Kens don't have and I think Tony would really appreciate being represented by him. I put him into this costume that my Hancock doll usually wears, because I couldn't find a miniature designer suit and anyway, he'd never admit it, but Tony would just _love_ to wear something like this for work and finally I put some of Tony's hair gel onto Ken's head, to make it perfect."

McGee took the short pause, Abby needed to take a breath, to voice his confusion.

"Um…Abby, not that I don't think this is nice…because it is, but…how is this gonna save anybody?"

"McGee! Have you not listened to a single word I just said?"

"You said that you dressed your doll in a new outfit and that…"

"I made a voodoo doll, McGee!"

"Oh."

Abby placed her doll on top of the files on McGee's desk and retrieved a small first aid kit out of her pocket.

"Whatever happened to real-Tony, we can take care of doll-Tony and the powers of the universe will transfer our efforts onto real-Tony."

He tried. He tried really hard not to raise a questioning eyebrow or shake his head or break out laughing at the absurdity of his friend's idea, but somehow his reluctance to accept her idea must have shown on his face, because within seconds, Abby's enthusiastic smile died away, to be replaced by a menacing scowl.

"McGee", she leaned over the desk, right into his personal space until their noses were almost touching. "I am still nursing the mother of all hangovers. Just because massive amounts of Caff Pow! are covering it up, doesn't mean it's not there and you _really_ do not want to piss me off right now."

McGee audibly gulped.

"Abbs…it's a voodoo doll."

As much as he would have liked to indulge the Goth, the fact-reliant computer nerd/scientist in him just wouldn't go along with such nonsense. He had never been able to understand how a forensic scientist, who relied on the laws of physics and logic on a day to day basis, in order to do her job, could still get carried away with some decidedly unscientific magic game.

"Exactly", Abby's voice was still dangerously quiet. "And this voodoo doll is the only thing I can do to help them, right now. I want to do _something _and if that means I have to try and contact the loa, to make sure everything will be alright, then that's what I'm gonna do!"

Somewhere along the way, her anger at McGee's refusal to cooperate had turned into utter despair with her current situation. It so wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that her friends had gone missing again. It wasn't fair that the technology in her lab wasn't any help, whatsoever. It wasn't fair that hinky things like that kept happening to Tony and Gibbs. It was almost like the two of them went out of their way to put themselves in situations that caused the Goth to be sick with worry. It wasn't fair that everybody had gone away and left Abby with McGee to take care of her. Not that she didn't like McGee, but he was definitely not, who she wanted to look after her in a time of crisis.

McGee watched a quick jumble of emotions wash over Abby's face and before he knew what was happening, he was holding the sobbing lab tech in his arms, not quite knowing, what to do with her.

"So what do we do?" he asked, indicating the doll, still lying on his desk.

Obviously this voodoo thing was important to Abby and since he really didn't have anything to do right now, other than wait for his computer searches to turn up anything useful, he decided that going along with her voodoo fantasy couldn't hurt.

"Well" Abby was still sniffling. "We don't know what happened to them…but this is Tony we're talking about. Our best guess is that he hurt his head. We should take care of that first."

And with that, she opened her first aid kit and pulled out a roll of gauze, to put on the doll's head.

*****

Tony was throwing up again.

This time it hadn't even taken bright lights or fast movements. Well…fast movements might have been involved, but to a much lesser extent than earlier.

Gibbs had just finished his third account of the events that had led to them being trapped in their victim's basement (and Tony was already forgetting some of the detail involved, so there was every chance that there would be a fourth and possibly a fifth retelling). Everything had gone well, until – several minutes after Gibbs had mentioned it – Tony had realized that the `trapped in a victim's basement´ bit meant that they were literally trapped in a basement.

He had felt the nausea rise at the very thought. He _might_ have tried to get up and here he was, lying on his side, producing some bile, but mostly dry heaving. The cramping was starting to hurt his bruised ribs and his head was screaming in pain. Then again, it had been doing that constantly for some time now, so he couldn't be entirely sure that that had anything to do with him throwing up.

Tony was dimly aware of someone rubbing his back. Now what was that supposed to accomplish? It certainly didn't reduce any of the various pains and aches, plaguing his body at the moment. It also did little to make the process of trying to puke, when there was nothing left in his stomach to chuck up, one bit more amusing. On the other hand, it did remind him of the fact that yes, he was locked in a basement, but at least this time there was someone with him (taking care of him?).

He noticed that the dry heaving had stopped now. That was good. The taste that was left in his mouth however was anything but good. The foremost sensation was dryness. He had apparently lost the ability to produce saliva. With it came the taste of copper (blood? He really hoped he had only bitten down on his tongue or something), puke and bile. It made for a lousy mix. It felt a lot like he imagined it would, if a small, furry animal had taken up residence inside his mouth. At some point, it must have died under tragic circumstances (a stab wound might account for the obvious loss of blood that had occurred) and since it didn't have any relatives taking care of it, the animal's corpse had been left, stuck between his teeth, waiting to decompose.

"What's so funny, DiNozzo?"

Gibbs was used to Tony's emotional reactions to various things being unconventional, to say the least. Retreating behind an array of several walls and masks, whenever someone tried to show him the least bit of affection, joking about a gun being shoved in his face; Gibbs was familiar with those. He had some level of understanding of where they stemmed from and knew how to handle them most of the time. Laughing about puking your guts out? Now that didn't make any kind of sense, even for DiNozzo.

Tony frowned at his boss' odd line of questioning. Funny? Why would Gibbs think Tony found anything _funn_y right now? Oh right…the small, furry animal inside his mouth. _Pretty sure it's a mouse, actually. Or maybe a hamster._ Yeah, that image was kinda funny. He would have to tell Abby about it, if they ever got out of here.

"Jesus…"

Gibbs watched helplessly as Tony, instead of explaining himself, started to giggle quietly.

If he hadn't been sure the body of Petty Officer Sachs in the opposite corner was already dead as a doornail, he would have been seriously considering shooting the man in the head for putting his Agent in this sorry state.

The giggling stopped rather suddenly. _Probably_ _hurt his head too much._ But to Gibbs's horror, it was replaced with something that sounded dangerously close to muffled sobs.

"Tony?"

He once again made the mistake of using the voice he usually reserved for frightened children or injured animals. The one that tended to make Tony run several miles in the opposite direction.

Amazingly enough, it didn't cause much damage this time. A small flinch, when he touched his shoulder again, was all.

What was even more amazing was that it actually got him a response to his unasked question.

"Doesn't exactly taste like PB&J, boss."

Gibbs sighed heavily. They had already discussed their lack of water for Tony to rinse his mouth with. Twice. It wasn't that he didn't get it. Severe concussion equaled memory loss equaled mood swings. He'd been through it himself and nursed DiNozzo through more than he cared to remember. That knowledge didn't stop him from being annoyed, though. Getting annoyed seemed to be his natural reaction to almost anything and that held true especially, when he was denied his regular caffeine boost.

"Sorry," Tony quickly apologized, picking up on his boss' irritated mood. Obviously, he had said something stupid. Again.

Gibbs cursed himself for how much Tony's newfound penchant for apologizing tore at his heart. Sighing again, he pulled his hip flask out of the pocket of his suit jacket and pushed it into Tony's hands.

"Rinse, don't drink," he instructed.

He could almost see Ducky's disapproving face. He was sure that at some point the older man had mentioned something about the effects of alcohol on the concussed brain and it was probably a save guess that those effects weren't really desirable.

Still, it was the closest thing to water that they had and as long as Tony didn't swallow more than a few drops of his Bourbon, it would just have to be okay.

Reaching over, to take back his flask, Gibbs felt with a start how cold Tony's hands had become.

"You cold?"

He thought he heard some sort of affirmative grunt, so he started feeling around for his coat, which must have slipped off Tony, since Gibbs had covered him with it earlier. He found it balled up next to DiNozzo's feet.

Tony was surprised to feel his blanket return. The one that had that really comforting scent of sawdust and coffee about it. He had pushed it away some time ago, worried that he would get blood or bile on it, but now that it was back, he was glad for the warmth it offered. It had gotten pretty cold after all.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

Were his teeth chattering? He wasn't that cold, was he? No, he was imagining things. He thought he felt Gibbs ruffle his hair a bit and _that_ he was definitely imagining, but somehow it inspired him to make yet another stupid comment.

"Bet you were a great dad."

Stupid! Completely out of nowhere. Why would he say such a thing? There were just too many ways in which that could backfire. Too many to choose from, really.

What if the comment made Gibbs angry? Reminding him of his first wife and daughter tended to be a slippery slope. Even worse, what if Gibbs saw the comment as a signal that it was time to revisit Tony's own daddy issues? His boss' anger, he could deal with. Open pity? Not so much.

Gibbs took his time to respond. He could tell from the way, Tony tensed beside him that he hadn't meant to blurt out something like that. It wasn't hard to imagine the one huge, round, green eye that was staring up at him, half scared, half hopeful.

"Better than some," Gibbs said finally, remembering the small almost-story, Tony had shared earlier.

Tony was content with that answer. It was a good answer. Especially, since it wasn't framed as a question and that meant he wasn't expected to come up with an answer of sorts himself and continue this treacherous line of thought.

Who was he kidding? He was Tony D. DiNozzo after all. The powers of the universe tended to gang up on him in that petty, little way of theirs. Of course, he wouldn't be allowed to lock his demons away, when he needed to. Of course, Gibbs just had to ask the one question, he really didn't want to hear.

"Wanna talk about it?"

*****


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** OK, I am so sorry this took so long. I was stuck writing my vfacharbeit. That horrible thing they came up with over here in order to torture students in their last year of school. But now, that that's done, I'm back to fanfiction. Yippie!

*****

„Wanna talk about it?"

Yeah, right. If ever there was a time in his life, when he knew the answer to a question, it was this very moment.

It was one of those moments, where the short answer was "No", the long answer was "Are you fucking kidding me? No way in hell, I'm ever gonna talk about it, not in a million years, I'd rather put both my hands in boiling water!"

Somehow either of those simple answers wouldn't pass Tony's lips, though. It was almost as if his body was conspiring against his brain to goad him into making the biggest mistake in a long time. The mistake of basically saying "Yes, in fact I do want to talk about the miserable soap opera that was my childhood. I would like you to know all about it. Here, let me bare my soul for you, so that you can see just how weak and pathetic I really am."

So instead of choosing the quick, easy answer that would have effectively cut off all of Gibbs' follow up questions, he went with the ingenious option of staying completely silent.

Of course, staying silent had its downsides, too. For one, now that Gibbs had offered to let him "talk about it" (oh, how he hated that phrase. The shrink his second stepmother had made him see, had used it constantly), it didn't really matter whether he said anything out loud. His beat-up brain had been steered in that particular direction and now it kept throwing flashes of old memories at him. Memories he had almost convinced himself, he had forgotten.

_Telling the pretty, young nurse hoe he had managed to fall down a flight of stairs for the third time that year. Actually falling – well more like being shoved – down the stairs._

The other obvious downside of his don't-answer-the-question-by-saying-nothing-at-all tactic was that he was absolutely positive that it encouraged Gibbs to keep staring at him.

"_Just give him something, so quiets down, Doc. I'm tired of being interrupted."_

Despite the darkness, Tony was sure, he could make out two brilliant, blue laser beams, trying to stare a hole into his soul.

_Fists. Leather belts. Hands. A paperweight…ah right. That one in particular had been fun._

He hated Gibbs staring at him like that. But he wouldn't buckle this time. Talking was out of the question.

"_Oh, stop the crying, Junior. You're nothing but a little sissy."_

"Look DiNozzo, it's obvious you can't deal with this on your own."

"Thus proving his point."

Gibbs had had enough of sitting in silence and watching DiNozzo ignore his question. His second attempt at coaxing the younger man into opening up to him however, had been met with the most nonsensical answer yet. What point? Whose point?

"What?"

And that was that. He had said four little words and he just knew he was going to talk. Tony felt his lungs release a heavy sigh of...not exactly relief. No, definitely not relief.

"Look…my dad had a drinking problem…I tended to be a pain in the ass…you do the math."

Gibbs felt a sudden pang of anger at the quiet acceptance with which Tony tended to discuss his relationship with his father. A relationship that didn't seem to constitute anything other than casual neglect and intermittent abuse. He almost made it sound like he –

"Wait a minute, you telling me you think you _deserved_ this?"

"Well," of course he deserved it. What a stupid question to ask. It wasn't like people simply started beating their kids and giving them their mothers' pills to make them shut up, just for the fun of it. Things like that didn't happen without a catalyst. The catalyst in this case being a particularly frustrating kid. Gibbs wasn't going to see it like that, though. He tended to labor under the impression that his Senior Field Agent wasn't just a screw up. So, since a completely truthful answer wasn't an option, Tony chose a middle ground, somewhere between what Tony thought and what Gibbs wanted to hear. "Deserved some of it."

And then it happened again. That stupid thing he always did when he got nervous or had a concussion or had had a few drinks too many or – watch out: worst case scenario approaching – all three of those things combined. He just kept on talking.

"You know…wasn't like he was unreasonable."

"No, he just put you in the hospital, I don't know how many times."

"Didn't say things never got out of hand. Still…"

Tony noticed how his hands kept twisting loose threads out of his blanket.

"He had his set of rules…I sucked at playing by them…tough luck."

That statement more or less stunned Gibbs into silence. So, he did believe it. Tony really thought that whatever his father had done to him had been suitable punishment for…for what exactly, anyway?

Tony sensed how little progress he was making, convincing Gibbs of how fine he was with everything that had happened so long ago. Well, he wasn't exactly _fine_ with it. But that wasn't his dad's fault. It was his own stupid fault, for being too much of a sissy to deal with it.

Another couple of threads floated onto the ground, before he decided to give it another try.

"It's not like he beat the shit out of me on a day-to-day basis…only, when I…you know…"

How was he ever going to get through this, if he couldn't even form complete sentences? He hated concussions.

"Only, when you what, Tony?"

"Only, when I…messed up, okay?"

"Messed up? How?"

This was getting irritating. How hard could it be to grasp the concept of  
1. Kid screws up  
2. Parent punishes?  
Tony was starting to think that his boss was being intentionally dense.

"How? You know…just…being a brat'n'all…"

Tony cursed his inability to explain this any better. He had it coming. Every single punishment his father had dished out, Tony had somehow brought onto himself. He knew it for a fact and yet he couldn't put his finger on any particular offence.

"Now what's that supposed to mean? Wearing the wrong kinda suit? Knocking over his whiskey? Talking?"

_Finally!_

"Yeah, stuff like that."

Gibbs fought to control the fury that was rising inside his gut. For the first time since Ari, he had that overwhelming desire, to take his old sniper rifle out of its drawer in his basement. Take it out of his house and on the way to work, he could make a quick detour to Long Island. Then again, death by a bullet through the head seemed a much too kind fate for the man. Maybe he could aim for the spot a little above the heart and then watch him bleed to death, after the bullet had ruptured his subclavian artery. Yes, that sounded much more satisfying.

_Oops_. He had done it again. The low growl coming from Gibbs seemed to indicate that, once again, Tony had given the wrong answer. Great, now he had made him angry again.

"I really did deserve most of what I got…honestly."

Somehow that was wrong, too. Tony's whispered assertion was met with a loud eruption from Mt Gibbs that made him clutch his head in sudden pain.

"You tell me one thing – just _one thing_ – that you could possibly do to deserve what he did to you!"

Tony opened his mouth to answer. And then closed it again. That stupid feeling was back. That stupid feeling that he just couldn't make sense of what his father had done. Growing up, he had always had trouble, figuring out what behavior would land him in a shit-load of pain and what would simply be ignored. Again, his own stupid fault, for not getting it.

"Anything?"

"Well…when I was about five, I sorta interrupted some meeting, to tell Dad about that Spiderman-movie, I'd seen…"

_Bingo!_ Gibbs would understand that. The Lead Agent was always complaining about Tony's constant need to talk about movies. Sometimes it took a couple of head slaps to shut him up. Or some of his mother's Trilam. Or a beating with a belt. Whatever it took, right?

Gibbs found that he was suddenly assaulted by images of his own little girl, sitting on top of his backpack, absolutely _insisting_ that he could only leave, once she had told him all about "The Little Mermaid" and how one day, she was going to be just like Arielle.

How different two families could be.

Maybe he should try telling Tony that what he had had wasn't right or normal or kin any way acceptable.

*****

Sweat was pouring down McGee's face. Abby kept a tight grip on his right hand. His left hand was busy, holding the various bandages and band-aids that were covering Abby's voodoo doll in place. She had also disposed of all the files and polaroids, needlessly covering his desk, in order to make room for her army of black tea candles.

Several people had already almost approached them to complain about the otherworldly noise that was blaring from Abby's miniature ghetto blaster. The only thing that kept them hovering somewhere by the windows was the primal fear of breaking the rule that was instilled in every Probie in their first week at NCIS: Never, under any circumstances bother, interrupt, question or in any other way disturb the goings on on the MCRT. But McGee had a feeling that if Abby chose to continue this spectacle for much longer, someone was bound to figure out that Leroy Jethro Gibbs wasn't around to bite their heads off.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

It took him several seconds to realize that this new sound element was not part of Abby's musical enhancement, but was actually coming from his computer.

"Abbs, I gotta go."

Abby started to slowly sway back and forth, in time with the drums.

"Abby!"

McGee yanked his hand out of her grip. He was met with an outraged cry from the Goth, as her eyes snapped open and she glared at him accusingly, silently demanding an explanation for interrupting her ritual.

"The..uhm…Petty Officer. Eric Sullivan. I just got a hit on the BOLO for his car. Sorry Abby, I gotta go."

And while Abby was still calling after him, he had already taken his sig and badge and was heading for the elevator.

*****

"For almost a month, she called me at work. Every single day, to tell me how great it was to finally be going school and how much fun it was and that I had been silly to worry about her. Wanna guess how many of those calls I took? Every single one of them."

Tony got it now. Of course his boss was angry with him. It had nothing to do with disagreeing with his father's idea of child rearing. This whole discussion must have brought back memories of Gibbs' family. It must have reminded him of how much he'd lost.

"Unfair, isn't it?"

"What is, Tony?"

"You know…you lost everything. Should've been the other way 'round…like…if you could have kept your daughter and I'd have died in some car crash…not like anyone would have missed a worthless little screw-up like me…"

What the..? Gibbs felt the boiling hot anger from moments before turn into a solid block if ice that settled in his stomach. Rationalizing the abuse from a parent's hand as his own fault, was one thing. But this? Admitting and accepting his own insignificance and simply deciding that his live was worth less than Kelly's, announcing that the world would be basically a better place, had their roles been reversed? That was decidedly un-Tony. It was disturbing and sickening to even imagine what had put those thoughts into his Agent's head. And it was simply unacceptable.

Tony yelped, as someone grabbed his jaw again and sharply turned his head to the right.

_Oh look, stars. There must be billions of them. I can see yellow ones and blue ones and pink… _

"Hey, you listen to me, Tony. I don't want to ever hear you talking like that again, do you hear me?"

Was that panic in Gibbs' voice? Worry? Where did those come from, all of a sudden?

The grip on his jaw tightened and Gibbs gave it another shake.

_Now they're dancing around. Cool…_

"You are not a worthless little screw-up, Tony! You are a good person and if your father was too blind to see that, then he's the one missing out."

Now where had he heard that speech before? Ducky? The child-psychologist? A movie? Chances were, it was from a movie and Ducky and the shrink had copied it.

"You are not worthless, do you hear me?"

It was nonsense, of course. Anyone who cared to take a closer look at him could see that his father had been right to ship him off to boarding school and to disown him as soon, as possible. Anyone who got just one glance behind his frat boy, class clown persona, had it in plain sight: He was weak and pathetic and a screw-up and not worth the clothes on his back.

But it was also way past time to end this disastrous discussion and Tony knew what Gibbs wanted to hear. So he decided to be a good little Agent and said the required lines of "didn't mean in like that" and "I know my life's worth something" and then announced that his head hurt and he'd try and get some sleep.

*****


	7. Chapter 7

Gibbs was staring daggers at the dim outlines of cardboard boxes, lining the walls.

With Tony asleep, he had been left with nothing to do but stare and try not to notice his aching joints too much and replay their conversation over and over again in his head.

He found that his little staring exercise did little to relieve his rage against the elder DiNozzo, however. A few minutes ago, after Tony had mumbled something in a concussion clouded nightmare, he had discarded his plan of shooting the man. Right now, Gibbs had an overwhelming need to hurt him with his bare hands. Breaking every single bone in his body, starting with the small ones and working his way up to finally snapping his neck, seemed a good choice.

It was completely beyond him, how anybody could screw up their kid's mind like that. Alcohol and marital problems or none.

Gibbs also wasn't one hundred percent sure he bought Tony's assertion that he "didn't mean it like that". He was usually pretty good at seeing right through the younger man's games of smokes and mirrors and that "I know my live's worth something" had sounded far too much like a stage actor reciting a line from a well rehearsed play.

But whether Gibbs believed him or not, it was obvious that this whole conversation had been a more or less disastrous idea. He had no clue how to handle this kind of thing, but now that it had been brought up, he couldn't ignore it, either. It was just as well that DiNozzo was sleeping, because there was no way in hell this conversation would have taken a turn for the better.

_There's a reason Ducky's the one with the degree in psychology and not me, god damn it! _

Whilst generally disliking psychologists as a whole, Gibbs realized that under certain circumstances people needed someone to talk their issues over with. And in Tony's case that someone most definitely wasn't him. Every single word he had said had somehow made the situation worse.

Next to him, Tony stirred slightly. He started writhing and mumbling under his breath (apologizing?). The shivering was back, too.

Gibbs sighed. This was the third time since his Agent had fallen asleep again. Not wanting to wake and scare him again, Gibbs carefully ran his fingers through Tony's hair. It was damp with cold sweat. Gibbs made sure to stay clear of the areas where dried blood was making it stick together. It only took a few moments for Tony to settle down again. A final whimper and something that might have been "I'll be good this time, Daddy" and he was back to sleeping semi-peacefully.

Gibbs marveled at how such a simple gesture could calm Tony down so much, when only an hour ago, he had flinched away from is every touch. It was probably something to do with defense mechanisms and subconscious needs and all that other crap, Ducky could tell him all about.

One hand still resting somewhere above Tony's elbow, Gibbs allowed himself a long and worried sigh. He really hoped that someone would find them soon.

****

The silence in the sedan was suddenly interrupted by a loud rumbling noise.

"Oh dear, you really must be hungry," Ducky observed, shooting a worried glace in the direction of Ziva in the driver's seat. Her stomach had been growling for some time and he was showing all the signs of hypoglycemia: Tachycardia (judging from the vein pumping away in her neck), her hands were shaking slightly, her forehead was covered in a thin layer of sweat. "Maybe we should stop and get you something to eat."

"_What?_"

And of course the foremost symptom: Irritability.

"You seriously want me to stop for a quick snack, when we have already lost who knows how many hours by driving on the same road as those imbeciles?"

"You also have to think about yourself, my dear."

The truth was, Ducky wanted Ziva to get her blood sugar back up for both their sakes. Yes, they had already lost a considerable amount of time in traffic and they had no idea in what condition they would find Tony and Gibbs, but the idea of Ziva driving a car in her current state was downright scary.

It was the first time, the elderly M.E. was experiencing her driving and already she was living up to Tony's descriptions of a road rage stricken maniac.

"Really, Ziva. It is getting late and neither of us has eaten for far too long."

Shooting a quick glance at her wristwatch, Ziva shook her head. It didn't matter that the two of them had left before lunch break. She was not going to stop now that they were finally nearing their destination.

"Oh, it was about time," Ziva exclaimed a few minutes later, as she made a slight right turn (without indicating) off the freeway, where she wouldn't be bothered by nearly as many other cars.

Ducky gulped and resumed his death grip on his doctor's bag.

*****

Abby had brought doll-Tony back to her lab. With everybody else gone, the bullpen just didn't seem to offer her the kind of security and comfort she needed right now. Her lab was better. It was cozy in that stuffed-to-the-brim-with-electrical-gadgets kind of way. And people didn't make funny faces, when she played her music down here.

She really needed to listen to something loud with a heavy base line right now, but she'd have to lay off the music tonight. Tony had once mentioned how some of her tunes hurt his head and she didn't want to risk giving real-Tony a headache by having doll-Tony listening to Cradle of Filth.

21.30

Glancing at the time, ticking away in the corners of her many computer monitors, Abby made her way back to the table with doll-Tony.

"It's getting late," she purred. "Maybe you should get some sleep."

She picked up her voodoo doll, careful not to let any bandages slip off and placed a kiss on Tony's forehead. Doll-Tony being much smaller than real-Tony, the kiss ended up being on most of his face instead of just his forehead, but Tony would have to excuse the red lipstick smeared all over his head.

"What's that?" Abby asked, cocking her head slightly to the side, as if the doll was talking to her. "You can't sleep? I'll sing to you then."

Placing doll-Tony on top of Bert and covering them both with her arm warmers, Abby slowly started to sing the first lines of The Cure's "Lullaby".

She stopped after the fourth verse, suddenly realizing that she didn't know what real-Tony had or hadn't done to his head and if he was suffering from some sort of concussion, he might just be scared by the notion of being eaten by a giant spider.

"Now, don't you worry, Tony," she once again addressed her doll. "We're all here to help you. Sleep tight."

And blowing one final kiss in the direction of doll-Tony, the Goth turned towards her computer and opened a game of solitaire, as means of distraction. She was very pleased with herself. Tony would be getting the best sleep in the whole wide world tonight.

*****

Gibbs almost jumped out of his skin when, without any kind of warning, Tony suddenly cried out.

Another nightmare. How many would they have to go through before somebody got them out of here?

Once again he started rubbing soothing circles on Tony's arm, accompanied by his mantra of comforting phrases. It did little to calm the younger man down this time, however. He was curling in on himself and trembling with more than just the cold and his whispered apologies grew more desperate by the second, but he was still, unmistakably asleep. Locked away in some mixture of real memories and concussion-induced hallucinations, where none of Gibbs' words or gestures could reach him.

Suddenly a sharp pain shot through Gibbs' left hand and he just about managed to stop himself from crying out, when he realized that Tony had somehow gotten hold of it and was clinging to it like a lifeline.

Gibbs extended his other hand to roll Tony over onto his right side. A shaky, half choked moan escaped the younger man and suddenly Gibbs had a pair of arms wrapped around him and Tony's face was pressed against his shoulder and desperate hands were clutching on the fabric of his dress shirt.

_"Please don't leave me here!" _

Gibbs almost didn't catch that. The voice was too muffled by his shirt and distorted by Tony's breath hitching between sobs. (Sobs? Tony was crying? Tony never cried. The whole point of Tony being Tony was that he didn't lose control.)

"What?"

Well, at least he had managed to wake the younger man. Not that he seemed even close to actually awake. More like some strange in-between, where his brain couldn't decide what was dream and what was reality and how to make sense of the two states of mind colliding.

_"Don't…leave me in the basement!" _

"Alright. Won't leave you in the basement," Gibbs reassured him, tightening the grip he now had around Tony's back.

They stayed like that for several minutes, until Tony's breathing finally evened out and he became more or less conscious of his surroundings and that he was…oh my god, was he _hugging_ his boss, _crying_ into his shoulder?

That couldn't be right. Tony pulled away quite forcefully, but the pain that shot through his head once more, at the sudden movement made him drop to the ground within seconds.

Gibbs's hands were all over him. His shoulders and his back and his upper arms and they were probably trying to help him in some way, but Tony wasn't entirely sure how and if he didn't know what was going to happen, he'd rather have no help at all.

"I'm fine!" he snapped as vigorously as his sore throat let him.

Immediately, Gibbs's hands were gone and Tony was pushing himself up against the wall all by himself.

_See? I don't need your help. I'm not some annoying millstone around your neck that needs to be taken care of. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. _

They sat like that in silence for several minutes. Tony half perched against the wall, Gibbs hovering over him, ready to catch him, the moment Tony lost his peculiar balance.

"Don't leave me in the basement?" Gibbs finally asked, quoting Tony's mumblings from earlier as a ways of opening a conversation.

"Hm?"

_Oh great, Tony. Really great. Really making progress on the finding-the-right-words front._

"You…mentioned something about being left in a basement."

"Huh."

Tony felt himself blushing with shame and anger. How had he let something like that slip in front of his boss? It wasn't bad enough that he had been crying like a baby. No, obviously he had to drop some comment about another stupid memory that he was too much of a wuss to deal with.

Gibbs didn't need lights to know the emotions that were washing over his Agent's face, as he was trying to not answer the unasked question. And they both knew he was going to tell him eventually.

Still, Tony's resolve to keep quiet lasted longer than Gibbs had expected. Fixing his gaze on Tony's general direction, he waited.

There they were again. Those stupid blue laser beams that were burning holes right through all of Tony's defensive walls. Why did the man just have to keep staring at him like that? Not that he could actually see the laser beams. It was way too dark for that. Which was a good thing, because light didn't seem all that appealing right now. Who liked light, anyway? It was all bright and shiny and made his eyes hurt. Did moles feel the same way about the light? Possibly. Speaking of moles, that tiny animal that had been murdered inside his mouth was still there and the taste had only gotten worse since he had fallen asleep. Fuck you, mole! Hey…that sounds like a cool name for band. Fuck you mole. Fuck you mole. It was funny, to say it over and over again. Wait, why on earth was he thinking about moles? Great, now he had lost his train of thought. _Gotta concentrate_!

Right, Gibbs had asked him something. Something Tony didn't want to answer and now they were both being quiet, waiting for the other one to give in. Why would he be so foolish as to enter an endurance contest with his boss? That was just silly. Gibbs had won before it even started.

Tony slowly drew in his breath and launched into his story.

*****


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: **I can only apologize for the long wait. It took me like four full writes of this chapter, to finally come up with something I remotely liked. The good thing about that is that I now have lots of material that I couldn't fit into this chapter, ready to be copy-and-paste'ed into the next one.

*****

Tony slowly drew in his breath and launched into his story.

Or rather: he _tried_ to launch into his story, then decided against it halfway through the first word and all that came out of his mouth was an unattractive, gurgling sound.

"Whenever you're ready, Tony."

Tony felt his upper lip curl, slightly unnerved by the fact that, like himself, Gibbs had already come to the conclusion that, no matter how much of a fuss he put up, he was going to tell this story eventually.

The weird part was that that prospect didn't scare him nearly as much as it should have.

And then it hit him: He actually _wanted_ to tell Gibbs. Sort of. Not actually wanted. More like didn't particularly mind, but _still._ Just what the hell had that…that…that fall? That hit to the head? That _whatever-in-the-world-it-was-that-had-hurt-him_ done to his brain?  
Tony didn't want to talk about things like that. Ever. And now he _didn't particularly mind? _Obviously some sort of impulse control centre had been bruised, possibly destroyed.

"I…erm…I've had some bad experiences with…basements."

_And here we go. Go ahead. Tell him the whole story and make sure you prove to him once and for all just how much of a failure you truly are!_

"Care to give me an example?" Gibbs nudged gently.

_No, not really._

"I…uhm…" For a short moment an actual, amused smile slid across Tony's face. How the hell was he supposed to play narrator, if he was having trouble forming coherent sentences? This was going to be one hell of a story, if he kept going at this rate. Then he remembered what he was about to reveal and the smile was gone.

"I…sorta…didn' want to wear my suit…pissed my dad off…"

*****

_A shriek that almost makes him cover his ears, followed by an angry man storming into the room. _

"_Oh, for the love of God, woman, what's wrong now?"_

"_He won't put on his suit! I can't show him to people like this!"_

"_Junior?"_

"_I don't wanna wear it! It's stupid and itchy and it makes me look like Donald Duck!"_

_Another shriek and her hands are shaking so badly, she almost spills her Kremlin Colonel._

_His father looks at his mother._

"_I'll deal with it" and she storms out the door._

_Thirty minutes later, three smiling faces greet their guests in the sitting room._

_It takes two hours for the frantic burn in his butt to die down. That's when he starts complaining about the sailor outfit again._

_His dad does that thing, where he looks at him and doesn't even say a word, but he just knows how much of a pain in the ass he is being._

_But he knows he's not supposed to make a scene in front of the guests, so he tries to smile at the guests, even as his father's fingers are tightening around his arm firmly enough to leave bruises, as he marches him out of the lounge _

_*****_

"He locked you away in his wine cellar, just so he could continue with his party?"

Up until now, Gibbs had managed to stay quiet and keep his thoughts and comments to himself, knowing that they were likely to make Tony clam up again, but that was just too much. The fact that Tony had relayed the whole thing in a tone of voice that suggested that he was talking about the most normal goings on in day to day family life wasn't helping, either.

Tony winced slightly, as the harsh, loud voice echoed around inside his head, threatening to tear his skull in half. What was Gibbs getting all worked up about anyway? He hadn't even gotten to the bad part, yet.

"Yeah well…he couldn't deal with me then and there, so…"

Gibbs shuddered to even think of what kinds of connotations 'dealing with him' might have, but he figured that pressing the issue wouldn't go down very well, right now. Whatever he might have had to say about the matter however, was forgotten when Tony started talking again.

_*****_

_He is used to being locked away in all kinds of dark and tiny spaces, whenever he has done something bad and neither of his parents can be bothered to leave the more pressing matters on their hands behind. _

_That's not the problem. The problem is that he has been in here for quite some time now and he really needs to use the bathroom and anyway, he doesn't have his watch with him, because his mom said it didn't go well with his sailor outfit, but he is pretty sure that the party should be over by now and somebody should come and get him. _

_But nobody comes and he figures he might as well lie down and get some sleep, so he will be up in time for his cartoons._

_When he wakes up, he realizes two things. One: He doesn't need to go to the bathroom anymore. He is going to be in so much trouble for soiling his suit. And Two: He won't be able to watch his cartoons this morning, because he is still locked inside his parents' wine cellar._

_He is still worried about what will happen, once his dad has slept off his hangover, but he is pretty good at pushing such matters to the back of his mind, so right now he is mostly bored. _

_Bored out of his mind. _

_So bored in fact, he might actually consider doing his math assignments for once. If he had a pen and paper that is. Then again, if he had a pen and paper, he wouldn't really need to do his math assignments to entertain himself._

_He remembers a movie he watched the other night, when he couldn't sleep because his parents were yelling at each other downstairs. He tried covering his ears, but that wasn't much use, so he turned on his TV and there was this movie on, with people with funny outfits and bright hair colors, who were singing and dancing and being overall hilarious. He managed to get his nanny to tell him the name of the movie. "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" - See? Even the title sounds funny - so he checked the TV guide and caught the movie again a few nights later. It has that really great dance routine in it, where all the characters do the moves that that old British guy tells them to do. _

_Well, if nobody is going to get him out of here, he might as well pass the time, doing something fun, so he spends the next thirty minutes jumping to the left and stepping to the right and putting his hands on his hips and bringing his knees in tight. _

_He loses interest, after the pelvic thrust makes him fall over for the third time in a row and that's, when he realizes that he is still alone and that somebody should check on him and he gets sort of worried. _

_Not scared. He turned seven just last month and big kids like him don't get scared after all. Just worried._

_He hates how dark it is down here and he hates that the door is so heavy that he can't hear what's going on upstairs and he is really hungry now and thirsty and he really doesn't mind if getting out of here means a trip to his dad's study, as long as he can just get out._

_He cries himself to sleep, because there's really not much else he can do._

_When he wakes up again, he actually feels sick with hunger and the only thing that's worse than the twinge in his tummy is the dryness in his throat. He tries to think back and realizes that the last drink he had was some bitter orange juice at the party. He remembers it was orange juice, because his mom didn't want him to drink soda, because the sugar always makes him unbearable. _

_He tries to do the Timewarp routine again but that only makes him thirstier and he slumps down against the wall and he really hopes that his dad won't fetch him in the next five minutes or so, because he's crying and DiNozzos don't cry._

_His friend Tommy McAllister once told him how a group of tourists in Africa died last summer after two days, because they didn't pack enough water. What if nobody is going to get him? He is going to die, just like those tourists._

_He doesn't want to die. Not before he has seen the new Star Wars movie, at least. _

_He remembers that he is in the wine cellar. Wine is something to drink, right? And if he drinks something he won't die and he'll get to see them kill Darth Vader. _

_He takes a bottle out of the nearest shelve and tries to open it. He has opened loads of wine bottles for his dad, but he always gives him an opener and without that, he has to break off the neck and he cuts his lips on the sharp glass._

_He greedily gulps down some of the wine, before the bitter taste registers in his mouth, but be doesn't really care about that, because finally he can do something against the thirst._

_A few minutes later, he starts feeling funny. It's like his legs are melting and an army of ants is throwing a party inside his stomach and the moment he moves his head, it's like the darkness around him is spinning in circles. _

_He starts crying again. He wants to pound his fists against the stupid door so somebody will notice him, but he can't even get up. _

_Scary creatures are looming over him now. He can almost definitely see them through his tears. One of them is Dr Frank'n'Furter, who has stopped being funny and is threatening to turn him into a mummy. _

_He's pretty sure that seeing characters from movies isn't a good thing and thank god, he is feeling really sleepy, because maybe they will go away once he is asleep._

_He continues this routine for some time. He falls asleep, wakes up, feels even more thirsty than before, drinks some wine, starts feeling funny, screams his head off, because he doesn't know what's happening to him and falls asleep again._

_Finally the big oak door opens. It's Rosita, the cook. She sees him in a lump on the floor, amidst a puddle of his own urine and spilled wine and pieces of broken glass, quietly sobbing. She scoops him up into her arms and starts singing to him in Spanish and carries him upstairs._

_When he finally wakes up again, days later probably, they tell him it was an accident. A misunderstanding. And when he sees his parents again, they smile and his mother hugs him hello and they all go on, pretending it never happened._

*****

Gibbs felt close to being physically sick. The whole thing was disgusting.

He felt Tony slump down against the wall, next to him. He knew that he should probably just let it rest, but the investigator in him just wouldn't let go, until he had the full story in all its gory and horrifying detail.

"They just forgot you were down there?"

"Sorta…my parents went away on this…trip," his tongue stumbled over the word. "Staff thought I went with 'em…Dad didn' remember most of the party, so…"

It was said in the most matter-of-fact way possible. Like it was no big deal that a seven-year-old kid got drunk inside his parents' wine cellar, because his father couldn't remember, locking him in there in the first place.

"How long?"

"Party was on a Sunday night…School called m'dad to complain that I'd been missin' class for two days…that'd be Tuesday…three days, I guess…"

Gibbs cursed under his breath. A few minutes ago, he hadn't thought that his desire to murder the elder DiNozzo could get any bigger. He had been wrong. If they ever got out of here, torturing that man to death would be moved right up to being Nr 1 on his to-do list.

He had noticed Tony's speech slurring more and more over the last couple of minutes. Every other second, the younger man needed to pause and actually force his lips to form the correct words. He had worked himself to near exhaustion, telling his story and it was getting increasingly painful to watch. It was obvious that he needed to rest. Badly, but Gibbs needed to know one last thing, before he could let his Agent go back to sleep.

"How often?"

"Wha'..?"

"How often did he leave you some place and just forget about it?"

_Loads of times. _

"C'mon. I know it wasn't just the one time."

"How d' you…?"

"You told me, remember? Maui?"

"Yeah…why would – "

_Why would you remember something like that?_

"Because I care about you, knucklehead, that's why!" Gibbs growled, suddenly exasperated by Tony's apparent inability to see what was right in front of his eyes. "People care about you, DiNozzo. And they care about what happened to you, even if you seem to think it's perfectly fine. Is that clear enough for you?"

Damn, he was doing it again. He was trying to say something nice and deep and meaningful and he still managed to pull it off, sounding angry and irritated.

"Oh…"

"Yeah, well..." Suddenly Gibbs was left for words. He remembered that voicing his feelings wasn't really among his strong points, feeling oddly grateful for not being able to see Tony's face, as he reacted to that proclamation.

Willing his voice to take on a note that was at least somewhere close to gentle, he told the younger man to get some rest, muttering a quiet "Atta boy", as Tony obediently settled back under his makeshift blanket.

*****


	9. Chapter 9

McGee brought his sedan to a slithering halt in front of the Washington DC Police Station. He silently cursed the weather that had transformed his drive that ordinarily would have taken him fifteen minutes into a horrifying, two-hour roller coaster ride, complete with multiple car pile ups and streets that had been ruled unfit for traffic by the police.

McGee cursed again, out loud this time, as he lost his footing on the ice-covered ground, just as he was getting out of the car. He barely managed to hold onto the door, but he could practically hear the smug laughter coming from the police officers, who were watching from a window. He was sure that watching a lordly fed stumbling around in a snowstorm, clinging to the door of his car, was considered a fun past-time by most Washington police officers.

Straightening up, McGee closed the door with a little more force than strictly necessary and slowly and carefully walked towards the building.

He decided to ignore the two men, snickering in the back of the room and asked the Captain about Petty Officer Sullivan's car instead.

The Captain motioned to his right, still lounching against his desk, not even pretending to be helpful.

"Accident just down the road. Guy drove his car right into "Marge's"."

"Marge's?"

"Diner that keeps us all well nourished," he reached around his desk and produced an empty pizza box, oozing with cold grease, as if to illustrate his point. "Hit the fridge, too. We couldn't let that guy get away with murder, so to speak, so we ran his plates and _voila_" – Tim's eyes narrowed slightly, at the gross mispronunciation of the word – "you Navy suits are looking for it."

Tim found himself oddly reminded of Tony. Only investigating a suspect, because they had destroyed his favorite junk food supplier's diner, seemed very DiNozzo.

"Do you still have the Petty Officer in your custody?" he asked, anxious to get away from these people.

"Sure. The car's trunk was loaded to the brim with all kinds of guns. You might wanna look into that."

"Yeah," McGee muttered, suddenly distracted. "Yeah, we'll do that."

Petty Officer Sullivan was smuggling the weapons! He was going to make the arrest that would end up finally solving their case. Timothy McGee, had singlehandedly tracked down their only remaining suspect, found the essential piece of evidence against said suspect and was even about to arrest him.

Following the Captain into the next room, he stepped close to the cell, flashed his badge and announced the Petty Officer's arrest.

*****

Gibbs' head shot up, when he heard sounds coming from upstairs. He grabbed for his gun, in case it was the second smuggler – the one who had locked them in here – coming back, only to find his holster empty.

Right. He had given his sig to DiNozzo, to use as an icepack. And the bullets lay scattered across the floor.

He fumbled around in the darkness, trying not to disturb Tony in his semi-peaceful sleep, as he awkwardly retrieved the younger Agent's own gun.

Carefully, Gibbs made his way up the stone stairwell and put his ear against the door, struggling to make out any sounds that would tell him who was rummaging around on the other side.

He was sure that he was hearing at least two different voices, one of them almost certainly female.

"-told you it would be too dange-us --- you to – "

Damn, what was wrong with that door? It shouldn't be that hard to hear through 1.5 inches of wood!

"Oh, please --- this –lace seems perfectly hamrl—"

Then again, he hadn't been able to kick in the door either, so maybe it wasn't simply 1.5 inches of wood.

"-- least stay in --- -vingroom, Ducky! ---"

Ducky! Gibbs was absolutely sure he had heard the woman say the ME's name. The woman was probably Ziva, then. A short, proud grin slid across his face. Of course, his team had worked out where to find them.

He quickly hurried back to Tony's side and shook his shoulder carefully. The younger man had been out for little over an hour. Before that, his alertness had been declining by the minute and Gibbs didn't want to startle him by banging against the door, without warning him first.

"Tony, you with me?"

"O' your six, boss…" came the slurred response. Gibbs was pretty sure that Tony was in fact far from 'with him', but the instant reply was part of his basic instincts by now.

"Right. Listen, you hear the sounds upstairs?"

"Mhm…"

"That's Ziva and Ducky. They'll have us outa here in no time."

"Hmm…outa where...?"

Gibbs sighed. It was futile, trying to explain the situation to Tony _again_, so he settled for giving gruff orders, instead. It had worked well enough before.

"Cover your ears, DiNozzo. This is gonna get pretty loud."

Gibbs waited for the rustling of clothes that told him that Tony was following orders, before he ran up the stairs one last time.

Yelling loudly, he stared banging the butt of Tony's sig against the door. The former marine waited for the voices to draw nearer, before he started yelling again. Finally, he was sure that Ziva and Ducky had entered the kitchen.

"Jethro? Is that you? Where are you?"

He could understand their voices much better now.

"We're in here, Duck."

"Where is Gibbs' voice coming from? I cannot – "

"_Behind_ the door, Ziva!"

"Well, Jethro there doesn't seem to be a door. All I can see is…oh!"

Gibbs heard shuffling, followed by a gut-wrenching screech.

"Talk to me, Duck!"

The sounds stopped.

"Oh, it seems that someone pushed the refrigerator in front of your door. Give us a minute, we were just removing it."

The screeching started up again and Gibbs could hear Tony whimper slightly.

Then the noise stopped, Ziva gave a short warning, for him to step back and seconds later, the door flew out of its angles and the room was flooded with light.

They were just about to enter, when they both stopped dead in their tracks.

"What on earth is that?" Ziva managed, covering her nose and mouth with both of her hands and stepping back, trying to get away from the vile stench that was coming out of the basement.

Ducky's reaction wasn't quite as violent. After all, his patients didn't exactly smell appealing most of the time, either. He took a few seconds to push past the natural reaction to gag and entered.

"Jethro, what in heaven's name happened?"

Gibbs pointed towards the dead body that had been lying at the foot of the stairs for the past twelve hours and then towards DiNozzo on the opposite side of the room and gave Ducky a short summary of what had happened.

"Oh my…" for a few moments, the elderly ME was actually lost for words, before slipping into his role as Tony's personal physician. "That boy sure does have a way of getting himself into trouble, doesn't he? Abby was quite right to insist on my accompanying Ziva."

He followed Gibbs down the stairs to kneel beside his patient.

Tony cautiously opened one eye, only to screw them shut it again, at the bright light falling into the room from above.

"Ziva, call an ambulance," Gibbs ordered the Israeli, who still couldn't bring herself to pass the threshold. "And call someone to pick up that body."

Ducky carefully started to examine Tony's wounds. Gibbs' earlier diagnosis of a concussion was obvious, but he still needed to do some tests.

"All right Anthony: Can you tell me what day it is?"

"…Tuesday?"

"That's guessing, Tony," the ME chided good naturedly. "What about the year?"

"…2009"

"There you go, my boy. Who is the President of The United States?"

"…Al…Alison Taylor…took o'er from Daniels…"

"What the hell is he talking about, Ducky?"

"Oh, some movie, I imagine. How long has he been unable to answer these questions?"

Ducky took Gibbs' answering silence for what it was and launched into a longwinded lecture on the importance of concussion checks. It wasn't the first time, Gibbs had been looking after Tony with a head injury after all and anyway, he had once met a man in Southeast Asia, who insisted on jamming his head through cement boards and nobody had ever checked on him, until he one day –

"Ducky, please…"

"I am most sorry, Tony. I will try and keep my voice down."

Tony visibly relaxed, only to tense up again, as he felt the warmth of a flashlight move over his face. He wasn't exactly sure why, but flashlights seemed to be bad news. Thankfully, the warmth disappeared, moments later, only to be replaced by Ducky's voice again. Granted this time, he did make an effort to keep the volume down but still...

"Why is his wound covered in grime? And why on earth would you not clean it, Jethro?"

Once again, Gibbs found himself trying his best to not growl or bark or yell or do any of the other things, he usually did, when somebody questioned his methods. He decided against answering at all and chose to start asking questions instead.

"How bad is it?"

"Well," Ducky placed his hand on Tony's shoulder and ran his preliminary findings through his head again. He couldn't say much without an X-Ray machine. Or an MRI. Or _light_. "He seems bruised rather badly from the fall and he most definitely has a severe concussion from where his head hit the floor. The facial injury looks quite nasty but I can't be sure how much damage was actually caused." The ME threw a disapproving glance in the direction of the meat tenderizer that had caused the damage. "What a barbaric thing to do…surprisingly enough though, young Anthony does not seem to have caught a cold, which would have been quite the debacle, considering the state of his lungs," he patted Tony's shoulder once and looked up at Gibbs with a smile. "He will live, I suppose."

Ziva chose that moment to appear on the doorstep again.

"Gibbs, I have contacted the nearest hospital. They said it would take them several hours to get here, but I persuaded them to use a helicopter."

"Persuaded?" Gibbs raised a skeptical eyebrow. Ziva didn't persuade. Ziva intimidated and threatened and promised dire consequences in the form of painful murder, but she did not _persuade_.

"They will be with us in a few minutes." The smile that crept across her face told Gibbs not to ask further than that. "We should move Tony upstairs."

Gibbs and Ducky shot worried looks at one another. Making Tony walk up the stairs was out of the question. The younger man had enough trouble _sitting_ upright. That left the option of them carrying him.

_Doesn't really sound practical, either._

Still, neither of them wanted to leave him on the stone cold floor for one more minute, so they would just have to try.

_Carrying it is._

Ducky gently grabbed around Tony's chest, Gibbs took hold of his legs and carefully, they lifted him off the floor. The journey up the stairs seemed excruciatingly long. Ducky wasn't as young as he used to be and Gibbs' whole body was still in pain from sitting on a hard, cold floor for half a day and night. Every time they moved to fitfully, Tony let out a low moan. He didn't even have the energy to complain out loud anymore.

Ziva switched out the light in the kitchen, once they had entered and finally could put their charge down on the sofa in the adjoining living room.

Taking in her partner's sorry appearance for the first time, Ziva visibly paled. She had known that it would have to be bad, but she hadn't expected this. The clotted blood and the colorful bruises were bad enough, but the way Tony, _Tony_ of all people, held himself utterly still and didn't even _try_ to talk, or crack a joke, scared her beyond belief. She didn't want Tony to be silent, no matter how often she might claim otherwise.

Desperately trying to get back some sort of normalcy, she decided to try for their usual easy banter.

"You know, you would have been much easier to carry, if you did not insist on living on junk food."

Tony's face relaxed somewhat into as much of a smile as the bruises allowed, when he recognized what Ziva was doing.

"t's muscles…Zee-vah…they weigh a lot."

"Arnold Schwarzenegger had _muscles_, Tony. Vin Diesel has _muscles_. You..?"

She let out a very subdued version of her usual high pitched, incredulous laugh.

"You…givin' me stick 'cause I…don' look like The Incredible Hulk?"

"No, Tony. Of course not. I am sure that developing a body like Vin Diesel is no piece of pie."

Tony paused. Something was wrong with that sentence, he knew it. But what? The other three watched him in silence, as he tried to figure out just how the hell that idiom was actually supposed to work.

The paramedics, who Ziva had called earlier, chose that moment to burst through the still open front door. Ducky quickly filled them in on the situation and delightfully managed to convince them that there was no need for them to do any of their own tests on Tony.

"Just get the boy to Bethesda. They are much better equipped to look after him, there."

The EMTs had been warned about the kind of people they would be dealing with by their operator (they had been bullied into landing the helicopter on somebody's front lawn, for crying out loud), so they wisely decided against arguing with the doctor, loaded their patient onto their stretcher and made to push him towards the door.

"Cake…" Tony muttered with what was probably supposed to be a smug grin. "Piece of cake, Zee-vah…"

*****


	10. Chapter 10

Tony was doing the whole coming-round-from-being-unconscious-thing again. First there was the dim awareness of floating around in a pool of black, comfortable, squashy darkness. Pretty soon came the awareness of not floating anymore, usually accompanied by a surge of pain in either his head, his chest or one or several limbs. The fact that this familiar part of waking up didn't happen could only mean one thing: he was on painkillers…probably in a hospital.

Great. Just great. He has landed himself in a hospital _again_. That realization was quickly confirmed by the appearance of a constant beeping and bleeping that was annoying him already.

Tony idly noted that once you knew the exact order of the steps to waking up from a blackout, you had probably been knocked unconscious one too many times, but he had more pressing matters to worry about. For example the last part. The actual waking up, opening your eyes and assessing your injuries part.

His eyes wouldn't open just right now, though. He decided to do the examination without looking, then. With some satisfaction, he noted that he could move every arm, finger, leg and toe. Trying to move his head didn't feel right, though. Not exactly painful. (But all that meant was that the painkillers were doing their job.) Just not right.

Right, so he hurt his head. Nothing new there.

Now on to the remembering how part.

Tony pretended to hear the drum roll, building up and building up, as his brain got ready for the surge of confused memories that would tell him just what the hell had happened. Only this time, they didn't come. No bright pictures, no flashing scenes, not even the faint recollection of a sound.

Tony would have rolled his eyes, but he wasn't quite sure how to access the muscles, responsible for that particular movement, right now. Not remembering a single thing about what had happened was usually a sign that he had hurt his head really bad. Not slightly concussed bad, but seriously, possible brain damage bad.

Right, if the memories didn't want to come on their own, he'd have to access them step by step.

_Last thing you remember, come on! You were in a car with Gibbs, driving…somewhere…and then nothing._

A big, colossal heap of nothing, where the memory should have been.

Geez, if the last thing he remembered was being in a car, maybe that meant that Gibbs had finally managed to maneuver his car into the oncoming traffic, or off a cliff, or…

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs! He's waking up! Look at him Gibbs, he's trying to open his eye!"

A loud and uncharacteristically high pitched voice cut through the last clouds of unconsciousness that were still wafting around the edges of Tony's mind.

"See, I told you kissing was gonna work!"

One of Tony's eyes few open. The other one stayed tightly shut.

_Note to self: second injury to the right side of the face._

With some satisfaction he took in his surroundings, seeing that he had been right. He was in a hospital room, machines and monitors bleeping away and an IV-bag, pumping god-knew-what into his veins. His boss was sitting in a chair by the window and n extremely hyped up Abby was bouncing up and down, obviously debating whether or not hugging him would somehow upset any of his injuries.

"Tony, you're awake!" she exclaimed, her voice slowly fading back into her trademark rasp. "I was so worried about you! Gibbs called me when they were flying you to the hospital and it took me forever to get here because of the weather and then, when I was finally here, you weren't waking up and the doctors said we'd just have to wait and – oh Tony, can I hug you, please?!"

Tony was so overwhelmed by the sudden burst of words which his brain didn't even fully register, that before he knew it, he had nodded and Abby was wrapping her arms around him.

"Abs, you're crushing him," Gibbs finally stepped in and gently pulled the Goth off his Senior Field Agent. "How're you feeling, Tony?"

It took Tony a moment to think about that. The painkillers he was on made it more or less impossible to know how he was feeling, so he settled for the most sensible answer, which was "Fine."

Gibbs gave him a funny look and he decided that he should probably move the conversation along, before Gibbs decided to disagree.

"How long have I been out?"

"Almost two days."

"Wow…"

Tony's eye suddenly focused on a bizarre object in Abby's hand. Following his gaze, Abby proudly held the doll in front of his face.

"See? I worked really hard to keep you safe."

"That's a…voodoo doll?"

Abby nodded enthusiastically. Clearly thrilled that, unlike McGee, Tony immediately saw the ingenuity of her doll.

"I took really good care of doll-Tony's head," she indicated the frayed bandages that were still hanging from the doll's face. "You may have noticed that, even though you have a concussion, you don't have a headache, at all!"

"Yeah…thanks for that, Abs."

"Oh, you have to thank the bossman. He's the one who woke you up!"

Tony shot a confused look at Gibbs who was wearing a slightly disturbing self-satisfied expression.

"She made me kiss the doll's booboos away."

Gibbs and Abby both had to hold back their laughter, as Tony's eye widened in shock, his mouth opening and closing, unable to come up with any intelligible sound.

Finally he managed to regain his voice and lurched into a desperate attempt to change the subject. Quickly.

"So..ehrm…what happened…exactly?"

"You don't remember anything?"

"Nope."

Tony listened intently, while Gibbs relayed the story of the two of them going into a suspect's house and ending up trapped in his basement. He deliberately kept out the more sensitive information. If they ever were going to discuss what had happened in that basement, it could wait. And it certainly wouldn't be in front of Abby.

Tony took in the information and slowly, the images he had been waiting for earlier, started coming. They weren't very clear, but they were definitely there and now that he was thinking about it, he had the sinking feeling that Gibbs was leaving something out of his short retelling. Something important. Something Darth-Vader-telling-Luke-he-is -his-father kind of important. But he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was…

Ah, never mind. It was probably nothing.

"Anyway Tony, Ziva managed to get you flown in here with a helicopter!" Abby finally chimed in, getting frustrated with Gibbs' disimpassioned, matter-of-fact version of the story. "And then they had to put you in all kinds of tubes and test machines. And I don't mean cool test machines, like Major Mass Spec. I mean evil, loud, brutish machines that sort of seem like they are out of a dystopian movie, where they do those evil medical tests on people, or something."

Tony shot a pleading look in Gibbs' direction. His brain wasn't even remotely keeping up with Abby's rapid flow of words and random topic changes. Gibbs put a calming hand on the lab tech's shoulder.

"He gets the picture, Abs."

"Oh…right. Anyway, you had a really nasty concussion, which is probably why you can't remember anything that happened. But you probably know that that's why you can't remember anything, because you have concussions all the time and you know how they work. You cracked some ribs, but that's hardly new to you either. Oh, but that evil meat tenderizer? It caused a hairline fracture in your cheekbone and that caused a really huge bruise. You need to look at that thing in the mirror. It's kinda like a rainbow."

Recognizing the overwhelmed look on his Agent's face, Gibbs told him to get some rest and ushered Abby out of the room, telling her that they needed to inform Ducky and the others that Tony was awake.

And just as Gibbs closed the door behind her and Tony was left alone, things fell into place. His heart skipped a beat before it started beating like crazy and pushed the heart monitor's beeping into overdrive.

Oh god, what had he done? He hadn't told Gibbs that he…that his…? Fuck! How was he ever going to recover from that? He might as well shoot himself right now, before Gibbs decided to call him on it.

*****

Tony spent most of the night worrying. It was a good thing that the painkillers were still making him kind of drowsy or he wouldn't have gotten any sleep at all. And with either Gibbs and Abby or Ducky and Abby watching over him at all times, not sleeping would have been cause for suspicion.

But he still managed to spend enough time awake, pretending to be asleep. Of all the stupid things he had ever done, breaking down in front of Gibbs like that probably ranked among the top five. Right up there with climbing up a tree and not knowing how to get down and opening ominous, deadly letters in the middle of an office building.

In the morning, a doctor told him that he was ready to be released. Abby beamed down at him, while Gibbs announced that Tony was spending the entirety of his sick leave at Gibbs' place.

Tony wasn't sure he liked that prospect. Actually, scratch that! Tony was one hundred percent sure he _didn't_ like that prospect. Truth be told, he couldn't even stand the thought of staying with his boss for any period of time, knowing that Gibbs _knew_.

His displeasure must have shown on his face, causing Abby to scowl.

"What's bitten you, mister? You've been acting weird all morning!"

"Nothing. I'm fine, Abs."

Again, saying he was fine seemed to set off his friend's alarm bells.

"What? What do you mean? You're _so_ not fine. Something's totally hinky! What is it? Did I do something? I didn't do anything. I even wore the low cut top, you like so much!"

For a short second that managed to bring a smile to Tony's face. It was a nice top and it accentuated her curves really nicely.

"Abby, you mind giving us a moment?"

Abby looked at Gibbs with big, green eyes, then nodded and left the two of them alone.

"Spit it out, DiNozzo."

Tony made a face. He was glad that the heart monitor had already been disconnected or he would have sent the thing into another frenzy.

"You know…some of the stuff I said…after I hit my head…it wasn't – "

"I swear DiNozzo, if you're about to tell me, it didn't happen, I'm gonna…"

Gibbs let the sentence hang, not really knowing what he was going to do. Tony's voice had taken on that terrible childlike quality again that made Gibbs want to simultaneously hug the crap out of him and smack some sense into him.

"Wasn't gonna say that, boss. Just…you know…I made it sound like my dad spent every waking hour torturing me and that…that's just not…that's just not how it was."

His hands were moving around rapidly by now. Twisting the sheet between his fingers, tapping a short rhythm against the plastic side of the bed, scratching his face, twisting the sheets again, while his eyes – well _eye_ really, was studying a spot on the wall just above Gibbs' head.

"I mean…it was pretty bad…around the time my mum died. But it got better after a while and…you know…most of the time he was too busy to hurt me anyway…"

_Or too drunk._

"I mean…yeah, he wasn't around much, but…he didn't exactly have it easy…busy job, endless string of women, trying to take his money…left with a kid – "

"Oh yeah, poor him!"

Gibbs couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but he hadn't expected the angry yell it provoked.

"Hey! You have no idea what you're talking about! He tried his damn best!"

"Yeah? Like what? He sent you to some fancy private school? Made sure there was a pony at your birthday party? Told some personal assistant to buy your Christmas presents? You think that kinda stuff can make up for the things he did?"

"…Yeah."

Somehow Tony got the feeling that that was the wrong answer, but for fuck's sake, it was true! His father had done everything in his power to provide him with everything money could buy and it wasn't like it was his dad's fault that he had been cursed with some unmanageable kid.

Gibbs made a supreme effort to push down his anger again.

"Listen. You remember what I said to you down in that basement? I meant that."

"Meant what, boss?"

Typical. Gibbs tried to refrain from rolling his eyes. Of course DiNozzo remembered all the awful things that had happened while they had been locked away and pushed the important things that Gibbs had tried to tell him, right out of his mind.

"That you didn't deserve what your father did to you. That people care about you, Tony. That _I_ care about you. I meant all those things."

It was surprisingly easy to say those things again. A lot easier than the first time actually.

Tony tilted his head slightly to the side. He wasn't sure how much of that he should actually believe. But with his brain not working entirely against him this time, it was a lot easier to push aside at least some of the insecurities that had been a part of him for as long as he could remember. Choosing to believe what Gibbs was telling him felt startlingly good and warm and fuzzy.

He smiled a small, shy smile, meeting his boss' eyes for the first time that day.

He would have asked Gibbs to keep the things he had told him to himself, but it was obvious that, if Tony didn't bring it up himself, Gibbs was never going to mention it, ever again.

And somehow that was enough. He wasn't feeling quite comfortable with Gibbs knowing yet, but he was comfortable enough to push his doubts to the back of his mind and prepare to bounce back.

"So boss, when we get to your place, can I set up my X-box?"

"Nope."

"Can you make popcorn and we stay up all night and watch movies?"

"I can stay up all night, working on my boat, while you get some sleep."

"In front of the television?"

Gibbs openly rolled his eyes at that, while secretly already making plans, to move his TV out of the basement and set it up in the living room.

"Boss?"

"Hm?"

"Have I ever mentioned that there is that movie _Post Concussion_ about that guy, who gets – "

"Only about every time you hit your head on something."

"Oh. Really? You want me to tell you about it again? It's this really great independent film."

Gibbs turned around, pretending to pick up Tony's bag, in order to hide his smirk. Yeah, Tony was going to be alright.

*****

OK people, this is it. Funny how a three chapter outline on the back of some worksheet transformed into this. ^^  
I wanted to thank everybody who reviewed and put this story on alert and whatnot. You guys are amazing. I'm handing out virtual caf-pow!s to you all.  
*sigh* Finishing things always puts me in this weird mood. Like...now I'm sad, it's over.  
Anyway, leave me one last review and I'll be on my way to finishing school for good, so that I will _finally_ have time to write, other than at 2 in the morning.


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